Lumière et Obscurité
by teawithremus
Summary: Albus Dumbledore is dead, the Order has disbanded and Voldemort is on the brink of winning the war. Severus Snape, the consummate double agent, manages to help two prisoners in need, but at a terrible price that will change three lives forever. SSxRLxGW
1. La Vérité Triste

_**Title: **__Lumière et Obscurité_

_**Rating: **__NC-17_

_**Five Main Characters:**__ Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Ginny Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy_

_**Pairings: **__many, but the main one is __Severus/Remus/Ginny__._

_**Setting: **__AU, beginning in the summer between Ginny's fifth and sixth year._

_**Genre: **__Darkfic! with drama, romance, angst and tragedy._

_**Summary: **__Albus Dumbledore is dead, the Order has disbanded and Voldemort is on the brink of winning the war. Severus Snape, the consummate double agent, manages to help two prisoners in need, but at a terrible price that will change three lives forever._

_**Prompt:** livejournal community 10quotes #36 - 3 (Bridge Over River Kwai) "A word to you about escape. There is no barbed wire. No stockade. No watchtower. They are not necessary. We are an island in the jungle. Escape is impossible. You would die."_

_**Warning: **__THIS IS DARK! Please be aware that this fic contains subject matter that may be controversial, offensive or upsetting to some. Warnings for: adult/minor teen pairings; non-con; Malfoy!cest; slash (male/male); character death; violence and blood. _

_**Author's Notes**__: Apologies in advance for my imperfect grasp of français. I'm learning, really I am. :)_

_..._

_**La Vérité Triste**_

_"__I had a dream, which was not all a dream._

___The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars _

_Did wander darkling in the eternal space,_" - from _Darkness_, by Lord Byron

...

"_Le traître de sang_," sneered Bellatrix Lestrange, her blunt voice cruel as she whispered mockingly in French. "You're a filthy blood traitor, aren't you, _Mademoiselle Delacour, non_? Oh, yes; Weasley, isn't it?" She cackled thinly as the blonde before her blanched, flinching away from the desolate sound of her newly acquired surname. "_Et le petit loup_," Bellatrix finished, amused as she cocked her head and studied Remus Lupin gleefully. "My former cousin's favourite plaything."

Steeling himself, Remus closed his eyes, wondering when the blow would come, but instead of the death curse, he was struck by Bellatrix's open hand.

"Look at me when I speak to you, werewolf," she spat, as though the word had sullied her mouth. Having recaptured Remus' attention, she smirked madly. "Miss him, do you? My dear cousin Sirius Black?"

Silent, Remus faced her. He kept his face as emotionless as possible, but he was certain she could read the hatred and fear etched there across his features. Besides, his hands were shaking.

"Answer me!"

Next to him, Fleur shuddered, frightened by the booming strength of Bellatrix's voice. Remus bowed his head. "Of course I do."

"Ha!" Her laughter echoed through the small, stone chamber. Pleased to have elicited the response, she pressed her face closer to Remus', closing the small distance between them. "Do I smell like him, hmm? Do I remind you of your precious Sirius?"

"No." The response was instantaneous, dark with revulsion.

Instead of being stung by the insult, Bellatrix looked pleased. "Good. It wouldn't be fitting for me to stink like that blood traitor, that Gryffindor." She sighed happily, smiling again. "He used to speak of you, all those years ago. He was so delighted to have been sorted into that house of bleeding hearts and fools, so pleased to have 'the best friends ever'. You should have seen the look of disgust on my aunt's face when she learned the truth about his new best mates. Oh, the Muggle lover, Potter, he was bad enough, but when she learned Sirius had befriended a half-blood Lupin, she had his inheritance cut off, and later, when the truth about you came out, when she heard her precious eldest son was in love with a werewolf!" -- Bellatrix seethed, her cruel joy dissipating to fierce anger -- "He was lucky the message came by owl post. She would have killed him, my dear aunt Walburga, had he ever dared show his traitorous face in her home again."

Smirking up at Remus' pale face, Bellatrix shook her head. "It's true, then, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Don't play stupid with me, werewolf!" A blast of orange sparks burst from her wand and fell, stinging, to Remus' arm, where they burned small holes in the ragged fabric of his coat. "You and he...there was an intimacy between you, wasn't there?"

Remus' insides felt like ice as he thought of the brief relationship with Sirius, which had bloomed shortly into their sixth year at Hogwarts, only to end abruptly after the deaths of James and Lily, and had then resumed a few months after Sirius' desperate escape from Azkaban, lasting only until Sirius' death in the Ministry. The time had been so short it hardly seemed fair to call it a relationship; there had been stops and starts, and their's had been a relationship plagued with lies and interruptions, presumed betrayals and long, cold silences. Grimly, he nodded.

"Disgusting," retorted Bellatrix, though her manic eyes gleamed. "Though it's all in the past now, isn't it, Lupin?" She spoke his name with peculiar relish, as though testing the power behind it. "He would have thanked me for killing him, if he'd ever come to his senses. Oh, my beautiful cousin -- whatever else he was, he was quite mad." Her face betrayed more than a hint of her own madness as turned her attentions to Fleur. "_L'amour des loup-garou est mort_. Soon, you too will have the honour of knowing your husband, _amoureux des sangs de boue_, has been destroyed utterly for his treason." She shrugged dismissively at Fleur's gasp. "The Weasleys should have known how they would be repaid for their tolerance of such filth."

"Now Bellatrix," came a silky voice out of the shadows, causing the woman to turn around quickly, wand out for defence. "Have you so little to do in the service of the Dark Lord that you must waste your time tormenting the prisoners?"

Angered, Bellatrix kept her wand raised. "What are you doing here, Snape?"

"I was sent to keep watch," Severus Snape spoke calmly. His gaze flicked mildly over Remus Lupin, who huddled pale and trembling in the corner, and then he studied Fleur Delacour-Weasley, who seemed to be in shock and had crumpled onto the cold stone floor. "You've been summoned to a meeting."

"And you're too insignificant to warrant an invitation?" Bellatrix questioned, pleased. "So, the Dark Lord agrees with my suspicions. He no longer trusts you among his inner circle. The day will come, Severus - mark this! The day will come when you rot in one of these cages, among these blood traitors and half-breeds. I think your time grows short."

Unperturbed, Severus shrugged carelessly. "The meeting is not with the Dark Lord, whom, if you were a trusted member of his service, you would have been told is in Slovakia, stirring up support for our cause. No, it is Avery who wants you. You've been given a task to do." Before Bellatrix had time to look smug regarding her special appointment, Severus smiled coldly. "You are to join Pettigrew, whose job is to procure a certain item of interest to our leader."

"Pet -- Pettigrew?" thundered Bellatrix, as Remus, in his cell, lifted his head warily. "That rat? I'll not be reduced to a petty thief, paired with the Dark Lord's clumsiest servant!"

"They are Avery's orders, not mine," Severus responded airily. "And you ought to move along, Bellatrix. He will grow cross at the delay."

Unmoved, she hissed him. "I should have been put in charge! I'm the Dark Lord's most loyal follower. He trusts me the most!"

Calmly, Severus smiled. "Apparently not as much as you've been led to believe. Now, then, will you go, or must I inform Avery that you are questioning your standing in the service of the Dark Lord?"

Not bothering to reply, Bellatrix shoved him gruffly out of the way and stormed off. The sound of her footsteps echoed back for a few moments, but finally, it was quiet.

"You're hurt?"

"Not too badly," Remus muttered softly, gingerly touching his face, which he knew had to be bruised. They had used the Cruciatus on him, but only for a moment; there was nothing for him to confess to, no deep secrets stored behind his mild yellow eyes. Strangely, it had been Bellatrix who had demanded he be kept alive. Although he had assumed she wanted him to live only so she could have the pleasure of torturing him, thus far she had done nothing more than taunt him with the fact of Sirius' death, and occasionally strike him when her mood suited. Not wanting to admit any weakness in front of Severus, Remus met his gaze coolly. "There is no pain."

Severus did not seem interested in torture either. On the contrary, he sat down on the bench across from the bars, and withdrew from his pockets some bread and cheese wrapped in a handkerchief. "Eat something," he advised, passing it through the bars to Remus. "It isn't poisoned, I assure you. No, don't give her any," he interrupted as Remus attempted to shake Fleur into consciousness so she could eat. "You're the one who will need the strength."

"She needs it just as much as I do," Remus protested, refusing to ask why.

"No." Shaking his head, Severus drew a tight breath. "She'll be dead this time tomorrow. A particularly gruesome death, as well -- they plan to give her to Yaxley as a token. He requested her specifically. He's particularly taken with her, or so it seems."

The food in his mouth turned to ash, and Remus set the rest of the bread down, nausea welling up inside him. "Is it -- both of us?"

"Not you. Not yet." Severus sighed. "Greyback requested a match, a duel of sorts, between werewolves. He wishes to prove not only his loyalty, but his superior strength and skill." Evenly, Severus looked Remus over, remembering that terrifying night when he had at last stumbled on the truth of Remus' dark secret. Left longing for the boyhood innocence that had allowed him to be frightened of red eyes in a dark tunnel and the sound of canine baying beneath the risen moon, he clutched spasmodically at his robes. "You'll likely be spared until the Dark Lord returns. The bloodlust here has been temporarily satiated -- her husband," he added, indicating Fleur. "He wasn't a full werewolf, he didn't transform; he didn't have a chance. All I can say is that it was reasonably quick."

Horrified, Remus shivered, backing away from the bars as if afraid that Severus might advance right into the cage. "I -- Bill Weasley?"

"Yes."

"And the others?"

Severus' black eyes betrayed a depth of emotion Remus had scarcely seen before. "What others?"

"Oh..." Remus began, his knees giving way and spilling him onto the ground. He made no move to rise. "Why are you telling me this, Severus?"

There was no other answer, and Severus made no pretence. He thought of his turbulent boyhood at Hogwarts, how rising high points such as his friendship with Lily was ruined by the mental and occasional physical torture administered by James Potter and Sirius Black. Lupin, as Severus had always thought of him, staunchly refusing to use first names, had been a part of that little knot of malicious Gryffindors, yet he had never seemed to take pleasure in Severus' torment. Several times, he had even made half-hearted attempts to stop his friends in their cruelty, though almost never with any success. Thinking of those long conversations with Dumbledore, when he had promised to do his duty and remain a spy, Severus frowned, meeting the other man's gaze. "Because you have to know. You need to be aware of the dangers you face here, from them."

"From you, you mean," Remus spat.

"No, not from me." Weary, Severus bowed his head. "There is precious little in my past which I can claim to be proud of, but at the very least, I can honestly state that I'm not a loyalist. I haven't been, since the moment they threatened Lily Evans' life."

If Severus expected a sombre nod or a look of reprieve on Remus' face, he was sorely disappointed. Remus' eyes shone golden and malicious. "You filthy liar! Don't you dare speak her name -- don't you dare!" He seemed to have forgotten he was without a wand as he clutched the bars of his cell, spoiling for a fight. "I know what you are. Have the courage to kill me, Severus, and admit to it outright, but don't expect to win my sympathy with your pathetic tale."

"I loved her," Severus stated, quite shocked.

"Like hell you did. You broke her heart, I'll have you know -- do you really think she would have ended up with James any other way? She loved you, and you abandoned her to join up with Voldemort! You stood by and let her be brutally murdered --"

"No!"

"-- and now you dare claim you aren't part of it?" Crazed, Remus glared mightily. "You, holding that wand in your hand, are in charge of who lives and who dies for the moment! You're claiming not to be a part?"

The wand clattered to the floor as Severus trembled, shaking beneath the judgement of Remus' ferocity. He had never thought one of those Gryffindors would have an opinion that mattered to him, but he found himself unable to meet the ferocious face of the mild man who had been Lily Evans' other best friend.

"I didn't mean --"

"Then what?" bellowed Remus. He grasped the metal bars of his cage, holding them for support.

"I tried to stop them," Severus whispered hoarsely. "I begged Voldemort not to kill her. I went to Dumbledore...I told him everything." Raising his head, he pleaded for forgiveness. "He asked me to spy, to fetch information for the Order. I've done this willingly ever since, though admittedly not without bearing a terrible regret that I didn't make the choice earlier."

Remus shook his head, his anger dissolving as he brooded. "You did nothing for her. Lily Evans is dead."

Anguished, Severus drew a deep breath, hating the tension working through his body. "I'll do what I can to help you escape," he spoke softly, changing the subject. "I make you no promises --"

"Of course not."

"But I will try. If there's a chance that I can help you, I'll take it."

Drawn back into the reality of the present, Remus looked at the other man imploringly. "Help my wife and son, then, Severus, if you're truly sincere about your position. Help Tonks and Teddy escape."

The twitch of Severus' jaw was all Remus needed to read the truth, but Severus spoke it anyway. "Your wife was killed two hours ago. The boy was spared, in a fashion," he added hastily as Remus' horrified eyes met his own. "Fenrir Greyback requested that he be given the boy, to raise, as a 'cub'...he intends to train him as a fighter."

Unable to comprehend what was being said, Remus shook his head. "No -- no -- my son's not a werewolf. He's not like me!" The precious memory of Teddy's birth made him ache as he remembered it, but he could not forget the relief he had felt when the Healers had determined that his son was a Metamorphmagus, without a trace of werewolf within him. Steeling himself so not to think of Nymphadora's proud, beaming face, he clutched at his hair, looking deranged. "Teddy's not a wolf!"

"They already know that, Lupin. Greyback bit him, shortly before Nymphadora was murdered. He'll turn, on the next full moon, if he heals from the wounds that were inflicted." Frustrated that he had nothing better to comfort the other man with, Severus tried to appear calm as he considered the damage that had been done to the boy. Greyback had fallen on him with particular savagery. Not willing to tell Remus just how badly the boy had been bitten, he attempted to look reassuring. "I think he will."

"No!" The anguished cry roused Fleur from her semi-dose, but Remus did not notice. "No, they can't. They couldn't have! Not Teddy!"

"I'm sorry," came the words from Severus' mouth, sounding awkward in his voice. He waited for a moment, watching as Remus laid face down upon the stones and cried, and then he turned, slinking back into the darkness, already closing his mind against the probe of Legilimency he knew would be forthcoming.

...

Commentaire, svp! :)


	2. Rouge Et Loup

**Rouge Et Loup**

_Ô douleur! ô douleur! Le Temps mange la vie,_

_Et l'obscur Ennemi qui nous ronge le coeur_

_Du sang que nous perdons croît et se fortifie! _- Charles Baudelaire; L'Ennemi; Les Fleurs du Mal

...

"_Just as Little Red Riding Hood entered the wood, a wolf met her. Little Red Riding Hood did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him. _

_"Good-day, Little Red Riding Hood," said he. _

_"Thank you kindly, wolf._" - Grimm's _Little Red Riding Hood_

...

They had taken Fleur hours ago, and Remus sat alone in the dismal cell, curled in the corner of a room that felt much too big. He thought of how cramped the little jail had seemed when he had first been dragged in by two brawny oafs in frightening masks and dark hoods. Nymphadora had been with him for the first few days, and Teddy. The baby had radiated a stiff sort of silence despite the cries of pain and fright from the other captives, and he had taken it as a favourable omen, hoping no tragedy would befall his small family. Once he had recovered enough from shock to look around, Remus had been horrified to see Charlie -- his favourite Weasley -- there among the prisoners. Now, he felt he would be grateful for the sight of a friendly face, no matter how bloodied.

Distantly, he heard the grating of a door swinging open on rusted hinges. His shoulders sagged with resignation and relief at the thought that it might be one of the Death Eaters coming for him now, ready to drag him back to the bright interrogation room with the lights that stung his eyes. Maybe it was even time to die. Remus sighed. He was frightened of the pain of Greyback's claws and teeth, but the concept of death held no fear for him. Everyone he had ever loved was gone already.

_Not Teddy_, he reminded himself fiercely, struggling to his feet as he listened to someone down the hall shouting at an unknown Death Eater, begging for water. Teddy might still be alive, if he'd survived the bite. It was awful, to think of his son sharing his curse, but although Remus had sometimes thought _he_ might be better off dead than a werewolf, it was an easy choice to accept the life of his son at any cost. _Better cursed than dead_, he reminded himself, thinking of the little boy's face. He told himself he had to stay alive, for Teddy, but it had been weeks since he had seen his son, and the energy the thought inspired faded quickly.

"Where is my brother?" screamed an agonised female voice not far down the hall. Remus' ears perked as he recognised it. "What have you done with my parents?" The fierce anger was mingled with snivelling sobs as the girl called out plaintively. "I want my mother!"

"Ginevra," Remus breathed inaudibly. Slinking towards the shadows in the back of the cell, Remus watched warily as two Death Eaters dragged the red-head closer, then pushed her against the bars. She twisted around, trying to get in a good punch, but a wand tap flung the door wide open, and Ginny was forced inside.

"In you go, _my dear_," laughed one of the Death Eater's jovially, shoving their newest acquisition roughly into the cell with such force she fell onto the stones and scraped her hands and knees.

The girl sprang up in hopes of escape, but the door was slammed shut in her face before she could make good any attempt. Laughing, the Death Eaters moved back down the hall, leaving the girl to scream her vitriol after their retreating shadows.

"Ginevra," spoke Remus again, a questioning lilt to his voice.

Abandoning her attempts to break free of the bars, she spun around in shock, clearly surprised to find anyone else in the prison cell with her. Blinking, she searched the thick darkness for a familiar face, and when she saw one, she started crying.

"No," Remus instructed as she slapped at the bars with her fists. "Come here. It's all right." Instead of waiting for her to calm down, he went to her, holding his hands palms up to show he was unarmed. Hesitant, he approached her slowly, as he might a wild animal. For a moment, he wondered whether she recognised him at all, but he had little time to worry. Shaking, Ginny collapsed against him, one arm encircling his neck as she cried out her woes against his chest.

"Professor Lupin," she managed, when she finally spoke.

"Just Remus," he corrected her, not wanting to remember the few carefree months he had enjoyed at Hogwarts as a professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. It had been the first - _the only _- job he had ever worked where he had felt accepted. Wizards occasionally consented to keeping a werewolf around as an employee, glad to buy the work at low pay and assuming the subtle threat would enhance security, but Remus had always felt used, and he hated being feared by other wizards. "I'm hardly a professor any longer."

She sniffed, catching her breath. "Then I --I'm Ginny. Nobody calls me Ginevra, except Mum, when she's a--a--angry." Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head, forcing herself to breathe properly. "Where is she, Remus, do you know? They won't tell me anything. I haven't seen her since Saturday!"

Patting her back delicately, Remus sighed. He had no idea of the days and dates any more, although he was vaguely under the impression that he had been held for several weeks, perhaps as long as a month. The stab of a tension headed made him flinch as he recalled the last free hours he'd enjoyed with his family. Nymphadora had cooked; _bless her_, he thought, remembering the horrid, blackened concoction he had cheerfully downed so not to hurt her feelings. The Death Eaters had come shortly after the evening meal. He had put Teddy to bed, and was sitting in the chair near the fireplace, reading the Daily Prophet, occasionally peering over the edge of it to watch Tonks as she perused her Auror files. He'd thought to say something about the danger of her work -- he'd asked her to resign more than once since the baby had come -- but hadn't wanted to make the evening unpleasant, and so they had been sitting in comfortable silence, when suddenly the door burst inward on the force of a spell.

Despairing the memory, Remus looked to Ginny, solemn. "I haven't seen them. I didn't realise any of you had been captured. Actually, word was you're family had managed to elude them some time ago." He fell silent, not wanting to tell her where he had received the hopeful news. Charlie had related it to him, his eyes alight with joy at the thought that his parents and some siblings had fled the destruction, but Remus did not know whether Ginny was aware of her elder brother's fate.

"That's what we thought too," Ginny said softly, her voice shaking. "We went to Spain." Bowing her head, she dabbed at her eyes, but resolutely refused to cry. "We knew it wasn't safe for us anywhere, being who we are. The Weasley family is hated by blood purists in every nation, and we were pretty sure some of Voldemort's supporters would come looking for us if we left any trail. So, we vowed to live like Muggles. We made a pact, and everything."

She looked up at him, chewing her lip, and Remus forced a humourless smile. "Go on."

"There wasn't any way for us to travel, not like wizards. The Floo network is on constant surveillance, and anyway, we'd destroyed our fireplace, because we weren't sure if they could come through it to the Burrow. Blooms were out; we were being watched. Dad decided it wouldn't be safe to Apparate either, because I haven't had my test, and they might have a way to monitor that too, by now. So, Fred and George managed to get in touch with a girl they know in the village, and she loaned them her car. She thinks they're Muggles," Ginny added, smiling faintly. "I'm not sure how he did it, but Percy got us some pound notes, enough to pay for our flights. We didn't even dare use magic to disguise ourselves. We used hair colouring, and travelled in smaller groups: I was with Fred and George."

"So you did get away," Remus confirmed. "But -- you're here."

"Yes, well, we had contacts at home, and they managed to get word to us about the raid on Bill and Fleur's place. They were captured, you know; Bill being a blood traitor is excuse enough I suppose, but they were also harbouring some Muggleborns and also someone who had been a Death Eater, but escaped. Mum and Dad decided to come back, to see if there was anything they could do to help. They always wanted to find Charlie and Ron, and see if they couldn't persuade them to return to Spain with us. Well, I don't know what happened for sure, but someone tipped the Death Eaters off. They captured Mum and Dad and forced them to summon us back home. When we arrived at the airport, there they were."

"No! You were all captured?"

"All except the twins. Percy and I were sitting together in the front of the plane, Fred and George were in the back. When they saw the Death Eaters had us, they were able to create a distraction and get away. But Mum and Dad are here, and me and Perce -- and Bill and Fleur are too." Her expression was strained. "There's hope, then."

There was no way Remus could tell her the truth about Bill and Charlie, so he merely nodded in supposed agreement, looking her over for wounds. There was a fading greenish bruise high on her cheekbone, and her clothes were dirty, but she had escaped any serious damage. Beneath the hem of her Muggle skirt, her knees were scraped, but he could see no other injuries and was relieved for that. She looked hungry, so Remus fetched the remains of the meal Snape ha smuggled in for him earlier; Ginny fell upon the chicken bones and stale biscuits as though she had not eaten for days, and gulped down the last of his muddy-tasting water.

As she ate, Remus moved about the cell, trying in vain to improve their quarters. The place was damp and cold, but he had a number of thin, torn blankets, which had been tossed into the cell a few days previous, when there had been more prisoners to fight over them. He laid them on the floor, for the bench was too narrow to sleep on, and tried desperately to fluff them, mentally mocking himself for his attempts the whole time. Nothing could be done about the stale air, but he managed to sweep aside some of the accumulated dust with a ragged piece of someone's discarded robe, piling it near the door. The wooden bucket Bellatrix had laughingly thrown at him after a foolish request to use the facilities afforded no privacy, but he put it into the corner, in between the wall and the bench, to make the wretched place seem a little less intolerable. Then, it was done, and there was nothing more he could do, so he sat down on the bench and waited.

Eventually, it grew dark. Ginny became sick after eating - her first meal in days - but Severus came down for his usual stint as guard, and after setting eyes on her had made quick work of finding her a fresh blouse and some water to rinse her mouth with. He stayed there as she washed her face and raked her fingers through her hair attempting to plait it. Sitting on the bench outside the cell, Severus watched the two of them with glittering dark eyes for quite some time.

"Thank you," Remus managed to choke out as he watched Severus wave his wand and remove the sullied water from their bucket before replacing it with fresh.

Severus inclined his head. "Of course."

"What about my mother?" Ginny asked, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her brow was beaded with sweat and her skin was waxy pale save two bright red glints high on her cheeks; she looked feverish. "And my father." She seemed to accept Severus' allegiance without question as she watched Remus speak to him civilly. He had been her enemy when he'd been a professor at school, but only because he had been Harry's enemy. "Have you seen them?"

Severus turned away from her, looking to Remus instead. "The boy seems to be mending very well," he said, and was rewarded with the gush of Remus' relieved breath. "For a while, it was uncertain whether he would survive the bite or not, but his wounds are healing quite fast. He _will_ be a werewolf, but he won't die, not now."

"Who?" Ginny wanted to know.

"Teddy," Remus managed to speak the name with difficulty. "My son."

"And Tonks?" she asked, piqued, thinking of the kindly young woman who had always seemed capable of rousing laughter no matter the situation.

Remus hung his head. "Gone."

"At least it was quick," Severus said, sparing no sympathy for the clumsy Auror. He remembered Tonks mostly as flashes of obnoxious purple hair and pig snouts, though he had to admit, Moody had found her capable enough, and she had been keen on Remus; no small feat of courage. He shook his head fiercely at Ginny's look of horror and the tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "She didn't suffer needlessly. We should all be so lucky."

"But what about my family?" queried Ginny urgently, more concerned than ever now that she knew someone in the prisons had died. Rising up, she pressed her face against the bars, so that Severus had to jerk away not to meet her skin. "What's happening to them? Are they being interrogated? The twins haven't been found yet, have they?"

Once again, Severus refused to answer her. He nodded to Remus. "Potter is still free."

"Ron too?" Ginny asked quickly.

His black eyes met hers for the fraction of an instant. "Yes."

"Oh, thank goodness," Ginny said weakly, affording a small measure of cheer for her closest brother. "Charlie's free, and the twins -- and Ron! But, no one else managed to get away? When do you think I'll be put back in their cell?" Naivety was plain in her words as she asked, "When will we be set free?"

Looking away, Severus rose from the bench, stretching his long legs. His black cloak fell to his ankles, obscuring his form, but even bat-like, without his mask, he looked imposing. "I'll bring more food for you tomorrow; better food, and fresh water. Avery has decreed you both be kept in relative comfort. You in particular, Lupin, could be _useful._" He spoke the last word with irony, and his lips twisted into a look of disgust. "Is there anything else you require, that I could possibly give?"

"Answers," said Remus forcefully. He looked over to Ginny, who nodded passionately in frantic agreement. "What do you mean, 'useful'? And what has become of the Weasleys? Why was Ginny moved away from them? Have any more been captured?"

Severus' look spoke volumes as he met Remus' eyes, but he turned away, silently.

"Professor Snape!" Ginny cried out urgently, and Severus' spine went ramrod straight in response. He froze, mid-step, his back to her. "Professor - please! Please tell me!"

Without turning around, Severus shook his head. "I can't."

"They're my family!" Ginny shouted after him, her voice rising higher and higher. Shivering, she nonetheless shrugged off Remus' hand when he tried to reassure her. "I have to know what's happening to them! Why won't you tell me?"

Severus' eyes were dark fire as he turned slowly to face her. There was obvious regret and remorse in them, and he was shaking too, from the memory of what he'd had to do. It was kill or be killed; even a second's hesitation would last suspicious on his loyalty. Grimly, he wondered how many lives he had taken over the years and how the unequal bargain had ever seemed fair to him. He had been no older than the girl, Ginny, when he'd made the decision that his conscience could bear murder, but even once remorse had caught up to him, he'd continued to play his role of loyalist, murdering others so no one would think to target him. _I should have died a hundred times over_, he thought with self-loathing. To Ginny, he spoke in a ragged whisper. "Do you really need to know?"

Remus' breath caught in his throat, and he backed away from the bars, shaking his head in mute protest, but Ginny was too blind with hope to guess the truth. She nodded frantically. "Yes, I do! Tell me! Where are my parents, and Percy?"

"All dead." Severus stared at Ginny for a moment, wishing he could tell her he'd done everything he could to stop it, but Remus' eyes were full of harsh judgement, and so he fled the hall, unable to bear the screams of anguish ripped from Ginny's throat. The hysterical sobs seemed to vibrate straight to his core, shaking him along with her.

It was many hours later when Ginny finally fell silent, every last tear and scream of protest wrenched out of her. She was left empty, and exhausted, too drained of energy to muster another sob. Weak-limbed, her legs gave out and she fluttered towards the floor, though Remus managed to catch her before she hit the stones. He had been crying too, and the places where the tears had trailed down his cheeks had been washed clean of grime, though Ginny of course did not notice.

Ginny mumbled something incoherent as Remus laid her gently on the bed of blankets. He leaned over her for a minute, waiting for her to speak again, but she stayed silent. Within a few moments, her eyes closed as she slipped towards the catharsis of sleep. Shell-shocked, Remus laid down on the blankets beside her, feeling precious little surprise when she reached for his hand, and curled welcomed against his body, blindly seeking the warmth.

...

R&R svp!


	3. Le Seigneur Foncé

_**Le Seigneur Foncé**_

_..._

_"__We live, as we dream--alone_" - Joseph Conrad, _Heart of Darkness_

...

Imperious as he stood before the crowded circle of bowing Death Eaters, the Dark Lord Voldemort narrowed his scarlet eyes, scanning the exposed faces for any hint of rebellion. Fear was evident on the faces of a handful of his servants -- he'd expected that -- and of course, Bellatrix Lestrange was sprawled slavishly on her hands and knees, her dark hair brushing the dirty ground in her effort to portray devotion. He was pleased to see Lucius display the appropriate respect -- the man had always been a touch too haughty for his own good -- and he nodded, satisfied as Lucius' wife and son knelt to him. However, he noticed, something was amiss with Avery. The man's bow was not nearly as deep as it ought to have been, and he had the gall to raise his eyes to his lord's face, a cheeky gesture that implied they were something along the lines of equals.

"Progress!" he called out, and watched Pettigrew shiver. "There is much support for our cause abroad. East Europe holds many wizards aligned with our view, seeking the elimination of Muggleborn thieves of knowledge, wishing only to reclaim the rightful positions of purebloods. I have been able to secure their support, because they have confidence in my imminent success." He paused, inclining his head towards Bellatrix, who seemed on the verge of swooning. "Why are they confident?" he asked. No one spoke, of course. "Because they believe my Death Eaters are precise, controlled -- capable!"

"We are, my lord," breathed Bellatrix, nearly overcome.

His looked down at her, dismissive. "Indeed," came his cold reply. "And yet, we have not yet succeeded. The battle has not yet been won. Avery!"

"Yes?"

"Tell me, Avery, in my absence, have you managed to capture the elusive Potter?"

The man's face drained of colour. "No, my lord, not as yet, but --"

"No?"

"Not yet, but I assure you, my lord, our glory will be forthcoming." Avery's voice shook. "We have leads, clues - we cannot be more than a few days away from overtaking him."

Voldemort sneered. "You say you have information? Where is he going, then? Where will he be headed next? He is plainly on a quest, or he would have fled Britain and gone into hiding. What is he doing? What is he looking for? And why, Avery, why do we not have him already?" His voice had risen so that his thundered throughout the chamber where his supporters gathered, making each of them quake with fear at his impending temper.

"I --"

"Silence! Crucio!" he called, and Avery immediately fell to the floor, twisting and writhing beneath the terrible pain. "A lesson to the rest of you," Voldemort yelled, glaring down at the terrified weaklings who made up his power base. "I'll accept no more failure." He ended the curse on Avery with a lazy flick of his wand, and nodded acceptance to Rodolphus to run forth and collect him, dragging the limp, still shuddering man away. "Greyback, your report."

The grizzled werewolf seemed to stand a little taller. "I have acquired four more recruits, my lord, all living in the shadows, ready to come out of hiding." He grinned, and his yellowed teeth looked bloodstained. "One of the new captives is also of my kind, though not yet a supporter of the cause. There are ways of forcing his allegiance, though, my lord. He too has faced persecution from those Mudbloods in power. We have his son, and a number of his friends. I've taken the liberty of infecting the boy. He will turn, in a week when the moon rises, and he will make a valuable addition to our ranks, able to go in disguise among other children and bite them, bringing countless more to the cause."

"Interesting," spoke Voldemort. "Yes, Severus?" he added, for the raven-haired man seemed eager to speak.

"I know him, my lord. The captive - Remus Lupin. He was in my year at Hogwarts, though regrettably, a Gryffindor." Severus sneered. "It may be possible for me to convince him of our point of view; if he will not see reason, I am confident his friendships with other captives can be exploited to secure his support."

"And you wish your revenge also, do you not?" Voldemort ventured, confident he understood the motives of his followers. "Perhaps you could make him see sense. Yes, you might take him, reintroduce him to the concept of real freedom, which he could be granted if I am successful."

Severus bowed. "Indeed, my lord."

"Just a minute," interrupted Greyback, looking mutinous. "He's my breed! I ought to be the one he's given to; I'll persuade him, all right." He flashed his teeth.

"I believe you've done enough," Severus answered back coldly. He raised an eyebrow. "You were the one that turned him, were you not?" Looking proud, Greyback nodded. "Then of course, he holds a grudge against you. I believe I would be a far better choice."

Glowering, Greyback narrowed his eyes. "Then I want the girl, the one in the cage with him. She's a pretty thing. I'll love the feel of ripping out her throat."

Convulsively, Severus' hand clenched into a fist, but he displayed no other outward emotion. "A former student of mine, my lord," he said for Voldemort's benefit. "The youngest Weasley blood traitor. I am not unconvinced of the possibility of recruiting her either. She would be a valuable asset, I'm loathe to admit; for a fifth year Gryffindor, she had a surprisingly acute understanding of Dark Magic, and her curses are somewhat famed among her classmates. We ought not be hasty in destroying her; her blood is pure, of course."

"She'll never join us," Bellatrix cut in. "You killed her parents, remember?" The smile on her face was rapturous, as if she had never experienced such an enjoyable moment as watching Severus commit the murder.

"She doesn't know it was me," Severus retorted calmly. "Besides, she is in a very vulnerable state. She has no family to speak of any longer, except one brother Avery has of yet failed to locate. She's frightened, and naturally pliable. In any case, I am her former Potions master; she retains some trust for me. I could easily convince her, as I convinced Dumbledore, that I am benign, even on her side. I've already begun such work with Lupin. It would be all too simple to trick her into using her talents for us." He smiled coldly. "She's already in such a high state of emotion, and so bewildered, that it would be quite easy. She and Lupin could be used against one another, if all else fails."

Greyback snorted. "And you'll have all the fun, is that it?"

"Perhaps," Severus agreed, sounding amicable. "I have many ideas."

"I'm sure you do," laughed Bellatrix, envy evident in her expression. "The Weasley girl, I understand. She's rather pretty, for a blood traitor. I bet that red hair reminds you of that dead Mudblood you used to fancy -- the Potter woman." She smirked as Severus flinched. "Am I right? But why do you wish for the werewolf?"

His contempt was icy. "The Potter boy's mother is long dead, Bellatrix; I'm surprised you remember her. Are you certain you were not the one who fancied her?" He looked at her cruelly. "I'll admit you are correct on one point, though. The girl is rather attractive. I see no reason why I shouldn't have fun breaking her by one means or another. Putting her in such a state would make it even easier for me to appeal to her need for comfort and protection. As for Lupin," he went on, dredging up old memories that made his expression turn violent. "He tormented me in my youth. I wouldn't mind the payback, not at all."

Voldemort watched the three warring parties, then held up a hand to silence them. "These two prisoners seem to be quite valuable if my Death Eaters are willing to quarrel for them. Very well, then, a duel. The winner takes both."

"Very well," agreed Severus. He narrowed his eyes at Greyback. "You could have the Delacour bint; MacNair's finished with her, she'll not be good for anything more. Take _her_, and I won't fight you on it."

Greyback licked his lips, thinking of the fact of the pale half-Veela's flesh as well as the fact that he had no wand, and both Severus and Bellatrix did. "Fine," he snarled. "I'll take her when I return, after the full moon. I've got work to do."

"Severus, Bellatrix," Voldemort spoke, amused at the silver tongue of his right hand man, who seemed destined to get his way. Bellatrix was a fierce fighter, blunt and callous, but Severus was quicker, and something lit up his eyes, making him seem all the more dangerous. "There is much work to be done. We will postpone the pleasure of your duel until all of my faithful have returned in a few days time. Then we will see who wins."

...

"Bad news," spoke Severus Snape a quarter of an hour later. "Bellatrix Lestrange has made a request for you. The Dark Lord is of the mind that you are a potential addition to our ranks, that with the proper application of persuasion, you might see the light. I offered to take on the challenge claiming to be hopeful about the prospects. Unfortunately, Bellatrix is equally eager to see you dead. It seems she has not forgotten about --"

"Sirius," Remus finished for him. "She wants her revenge, as though I had anything to do with the way he turned out. Well, I want mine, for his death." He managed a tone of sarcastic derision despite the fear and anger coursing through him. "Tell her she can have me during the next full moon. I don't mind dying, as long as I can take her with me."

A few days had passed since Severus' last visit to the cell, but Remus had fared well in his absence. The food and water supplies were good, and one of the Death Eaters had apparently thought to throw in clean clothes, because Remus had discarded the Muggle-style suit jacket and jeans in which he had been captured in exchange for a set of slightly too-large black robes and a pair of dark trousers. It was actually worse, Severus knew, for the prisoners to be given such supplies. It created a tedious sort of hope that kept them alive, available for more suffering. _Easier to go mad_, he guessed, but did not say. In any case, his charges were not suffering.

"There are ways of keeping you alive," Severus said quietly. His eyes flicked over to Ginny, regarding her nervously. She was lying languid and silent on the blankets which made up their small bed. Her chest rose and fell gently, and her eyes were open, but cloudy; in all other respects, she might have been dead. Severus recognised the signs of shock when he saw them, and made a mental note to brew something up for her. For the meanwhile, she was glazed and sightless, trapped in her own world; Severus hoped it was a good one. "I voiced my intentions to Voldemort as well. Rather than make a ruling, he had decided to allow us to duel for you. You'll go with the winner, who will be entitled to decide your fate."

"And what does the loser get?" Remus asked sarcastically, his voice edged with hopelessness.

"Death, outside of extraordinary services," said Severus without much difficulty. "Still, I believe it is a chance worth taking. The Dark Lord seemed favourable, in any case. Bellatrix has frequently asked to be given prisoners; they rarely see the light of day, but I've managed to convince him that you would be a valuable asset. I've never made a personal request; well, not for many, many years," he corrected himself, thinking of the bargain he had tried to strike for Lily's life. "In fact, I've made the case that both of you might be worth keeping alive. Avery seemed to feel the same when we spoke not long ago; I'm sure he would back me."

Nodding rapidly, Remus met Severus' eyes. "If it means keeping Ginny alive, do everything in your power. Don't they wonder why you're so eager to help us, though? Didn't it put you in some jeopardy, to request a blood-traitor's daughter?"

Severus uttered a mirthless laugh. "You've obviously never been a Death Eater. Do you really think anyone who demands access to a prisoner here is doing it out of some secret benevolence? No, they would never suspect anything like that." There was a metallic taste of blood in his mouth as he spoke, studiously avoiding looking at Ginny. "She's pretty," he spat, disgusted with the Death Eaters, but even more ashamed of himself for having once been a willing participant in their games. "They already believe I simply want her for personal pleasure."

Shocked, Remus stared blankly at the other man. "How -- how can you even say that? She's barely sixteen!"

"That's older than some," Severus answered cryptically, scowling at the other man. He disliked the accusation plain in Remus' disgusted expression. "It's not at all uncommon, you know, not here." Turning angry, he glared. "It would save her life, Lupin, or would you prefer we respect your high-minded principals and the girl dies?"

Slumped against the bars, Remus simply shook. "I just can't believe..."

"Then wake up." Severus sneered. "You're among Death Eaters. Voldemort ordered her family killed; her brother is being hunted as we speak. There isn't any civilisation any longer, don't you understand that? There is no other way."

"What would you have to do?"

"To you? Mere torture, to prove that I was serious about persuading you to accept your duty or die. For Miss Weasley, it's a bit more complicated. They won't give me much time to work on her before concluding that she'll never side with us, but I could keep her alive much longer if I claimed I wanted her left alive for my pleasure. Of course, they would probably want to see proof that I was serious," Severus spat, shaking his head ruefully. "One time is all that would take, and then I'd be permitted to take you both out of the prison; you as a project, her as...something else."

Remus' expression spoke volumes of surprise and horror. "You'd have to rape her, you mean?"

Severus nodded grimly. "Correct. It would get you out of here, Lupin, you and her both. It's not going to be easy. Would you rather she sacrificed her life?"

"No. No, of course not," Remus said, shaking his head. He cringed. "But I just don't see how you could live with yourself, if you did something like that."

"I don't know how I live with myself now!" Severus snapped. He felt the burn of the mark on his forearm summoning him above, back to Voldemort, and he nodded curtly in Remus' direction, fleeing the hall as if pursued by demons.

...

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	4. Ce Qu'il Avait Fait

**Ce Qu'il Avait Fait**

...

"_Do your duty today and repent tomorrow_" - Mark Twain

"_Never see him! I saw him clearly then. I shall see this eloquent phantom as long as I live, and I shall see her too, a tragic and familiar shade, resembling in this gesture another one, tragic also, and bedecked with powerless charms, stretching bare brown arms over the glitter of the infernal stream, the stream of darkness_." - Joseph Conrad _Heart of Darkness_

...

Severus Snape jerked awake to darkness for the third time that night, his eyes suddenly wide and his entire body tense, though beneath the soreness and thundering heartbeat there was the vaguely pleasant sensation of arousal. He had been seeing Lily Evan's face in dreams for the past two days. It was not unusual, strictly speaking, for her to enter his mind at his more vulnerable moments, reminding him of what he had lost, but he hadn't dreamt about her in weeks, his mind far too occupied with concern over that blasted Lupin and the Weasley girl to allow himself distractions. Severus was unsure why, precisely, he worried so much about their survival; he had been asking himself that question for nearly a week.

The child, perhaps, was not so complicated to figure out. She was young, reasonably innocent -- Severus snorted at this, thinking of the few times he had come across her kissing one boy or another in a deserted corridor -- and despite that cheeky attitude she had exhibited as his student, she was undeserving of the painful death that would no doubt find her if he did not take up her cause. Understanding his interest in keeping Lupin safe, however, was more difficult. He had perhaps not been as terrible as his boyhood pals, but at best he was ineffectual and at worst, reasonably content to turn a blind eye to his friends' cruelty. The light in his eyes at the mere mention of Sirius Black still grated on Severus' nerves. Black had been, without a doubt, the single most horrible individual Severus had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes upon. James Potter had been mean, enjoying the torment of the outcast and downtrodden, but it had been for Black that Potter had acted, trying desperately to win the flash of a grin from Black's haughty face. Just the memory of Black, leaning back on one careless elbow, smirking calmly at Severus as Potter perpetrated yet another crime made Severus cringe with fury and embarrassment. He hated Black, but Lupin -- Lupin had loved him, and plainly idolised him still.

Sighing, Severus sat up in his bed and waved his wand to light the nearby oil lamp, which gave off a calm, golden glow. There would be no more sleep for him, he knew. He was too keyed up with the old anger, his thoughts a blur of confusion. Settling himself against the headboard, he reached for a worn old Potions treatise from the night table and waved his wand, conjuring up some tea. Determined not to think of Remus and Ginny, shivering under thin blankets in their freezing cell, he opened his book and began reading. The peace lasted mere seconds before someone started pounding on his front door.

"One moment," he called out, temper rising at the thought of being disturbed at quarter past three in the morning. Yanking on a dressing gown, Severus abandoned the book and clutched his wand, hurrying towards the door.

The tall, blonde man was standing in the rain, yet perfectly dry, as though the downpour which had left everything else soggy and drenched had not fallen upon his head at all. Calmly, Lucius Malfoy nodded once to Severus, who bowed him in and shut the door.

"Excellent news," he remarked, shedding a thick green velvet cloak. "Our man at the Ministry was able to perform the Imperio on one of those blokes from the Department of Mysteries. Potter may have managed to destroy that prophecy, but our new source revealed the individual who made it in the first place, a Sybil Trelawney." Lucius raised his pale eyes to Severus' face, a slight smile on his lips. "You must know her, Severus. Apparently she teaches Divination at the school. Any idea her whereabouts?"

Feigning equal satisfaction in this new development, Severus shrugged. "The last I knew, she was still employed, although Dumbledore replaced her with a centaur, who now shares the burden of her responsibilities."

"Is she bright? I say, would she be able to predict an attack, perhaps foresee any attempts to capture her?"

"Certainly not," Severus replied, unable to help his amusement at the thought. "Sybil Trelawney is a fraud of the first order, I'm afraid, unable to predict so much as impending dawn at the end of night. Her classes are something of a joke among the students precisely for this reason. Her only success seems to be this prophecy about Potter."

Lucius nodded. "Good to hear it." He looked around the small house that made up Spinner's End, frowning at his dingy surroundings. His expectations for grandeur had been considerably lowered during his brief walk up the street, which was not so much as street at all but a path made of cracked cobblestones and a great deal of mud, edged in garbage. The old industrial area of the city loomed like a tombstone, unused factory smokestacks mere eyesores on the horizon. Still, he had expected something befitting a Death Eater, and was disappointed. Severus' furnishings were ragged and worn, as if they had been in use for some centuries and never known a proper cleaning. The rug beneath his feet was threadbare. Even Severus seemed careworn, standing in the dim light of their two wands.

"You ought to return to the manor, Severus," advised Lucius.

"I wouldn't wish to inconvenience you."

Shaking his blonde hair, Lucius smiled. "It would be no trouble at all. The manor is more than large enough to offer you private accommodation, if it's fear of proximity which has driven you out here. I have plenty of empty rooms. In fact, I could place you in Draco's suite. He's still at school, you know, until end of term; best to keep him out of the way, I suppose, though it is a pity not to have him at home." Lucius' smile turned predatory, and his tongue flicked out, licking his bottom lip. "In any case, you'd be more than welcome. The civillisation might do you good."

"I prefer it out here," Severus said, straining to sound polite rather than offended. "There's no one around to disturb me. Besides, my potions work can be quite dangerous, and in this area, there is no one to injure if something goes wrong."

"No one but Muggles, that is."

"Quite," Severus agreed. "Can I offer you a drink?" Without waiting for a reply, he summoned a tray from the kitchen, which whisked over to him mid-air, loaded down with deep, dark red wine in a dusty glass decanter as well as two glasses.

Accepting the proffered glass, Lucius sniffed the contents. "This isn't the Chateau Lafite?"

"The same. The 1787." Severus took a sip of his own, feeling the warm rush of the drink as it went through his body, seeming to heat the blood in his veins.

"I wouldn't normally care for a Muggle vintage," Lucius remarked, downing the contents of his glass. "However, for this, I'll make an exception." He accepted a refill eagerly. "Your odd habit of going among Muggles seems to have paid off in some ways, hasn't it, Severus? I never would have guessed anything would come of it. That curious friendship with that Mudblood girl, for instance. I recall telling you, in my prefect days, that it would be a liability. Yet, if you hadn't known her well, you never would have been able to supply Pettigrew's name, and we never would have found the Potter's secret keeper." Lucius clapped Severus on the back, oblivious to the fact that Severus had blanched at the words. "Wine, secrets - perhaps having a handful of Mudbloods at our disposal is not entirely amiss. I hear you're even interested in recruiting one, well, a half-blood at any rate. Lupin, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"The werewolf. My wife is quite rightly frightened of him, though it's fair to say, Narcissa has never seen eye to eye with the Dark Lord on keeping such creatures among us. I, on the other hand, find them useful in their place. If you can manage to gain his allegiance, I believe he'll be a valuable asset."

Severus nodded, forcing himself to control his emotions. Lucius was nothing at Legilimency, but he was fully capable of reading the emotions writ on an expression, if Severus was foolish enough to put them on display. "I made a request for the Weasley too, the young girl. If I remember correctly, you were rather fond of her? The child you gave Our Lord's old diary to?"

Lucius' eyes lit up. "Ah yes, the girl. Ginevra, wasn't it? Charming. Well, of course, being a blood traitor and a dirt poor Weasley to boot she's beneath us both, but I can hardly blame you for finding her attractive. I've often thought she wasn't quite as filthy as the rest of her family; seems brighter than the lot of them at any rate. My son tells me she's very adept at spells. It may be possible to entice her with the dark arts, a child like that." Pouring himself a third glass of wine, Lucius sighed. "You're keeping her alive, then? As a concubine, or...?"

"Just that, I think. I'm not sure if she can be coerced into joining us." Attempting a look of frank disinterest, Severus drained his own glass, wishing it cheered him. "Not that I won't try, of course. The Dark Lord can use more servants."

"Draco will be most interested in the news," spoke Lucius. His eyes were glassy, and he smiled harshly. "Perhaps I'll forego writing, and just pay him a visit at the school. I'm sure he would like to see me, show me around...it's been a long time since we've managed to be alone together. What with Narcissa never going about her philanthropy any longer, and of course, the Dark Lord turning our home into his private headquarters --" Lucius attempted to hide his scowl "-- well, not that I mind, of course. The Dark Lord is welcome to all I have. My family has always been loyal. Only, there is little opportunity for Draco and I to speak, man to man, you understand. What say you, Severus? Shall I request to go with you when you procure the Trelawney woman?"

"Me?" Severus asked, surprised.

"Of course you." Lucius looked down at his drink as if confused by it. "I thought I mentioned that."

"No, you didn't."

Lucius shrugged, setting his empty glass back down on the tray and cocking his head. "Well, you're informed now, Severus. You're leaving in a day's time. Fetch the woman. If she cooperates and gives you the prophecy, she can stay at the school, otherwise you'll need to bring her back so she can be interrogated. Simple job, really." He reached for his cloak and fastened the silver serpentine clasps around his neck. "I think I will join you," he added. "The manor is a bit dreary right now, and I could do with the adventure."

"Of course," Severus agreed readily. He spared no sympathy for Professor Trelawney, although he remembered her as a fairly tolerant sort, too lost in her own make-believe world to pay him any mind or ask uncomfortable questions. "Until tomorrow then, Lucius."

He stood in the doorway, watching Malfoy move gracefully through the rain-strewn street, studiously avoiding dragging the hem of his robes in the puddles that had accumulated along the road. Finally, when the man held up his wand and Disapparated, Severus closed the door. Grimly, full of dark anticipation, he retreated to his bedroom and blew out the lamp. Lucius' conversation ran through his mind, and Severus doubted there would be any real rest for him that night, but he slipped beneath the covers anyway, hoping his dreams would give him the chance to pursue momentary peace, or perhaps Lily.

...

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	5. Dans L'Obscurité

_Thank you! - to everyone who has been reviewing: remuslives23, CreativeWritingMinor, Velvet Storm and mahsaff. I appreciate your comments a lot! :)_

...

_**Dans L'Obscurité**_

_..._

_From this story one learns that children, especially young lasses, pretty, courteous and well-bred, do very wrong to listen to strangers, And it is not an unheard thing if the Wolf is thereby provided with his dinner. I say Wolf, for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition — neither noisy, nor hateful, nor angry, but tame, obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets, even into their homes. Alas! Who does not know that these gentle wolves are of all such creatures the most dangerous! _- Charles Perrault, on _Little Red Riding Hood_

_..._

The room, high at the top of the tower, was filled with shadows, but Lucius Malfoy's silver eyes glinted easily in the darkness, finding his mark: the tall, flighty woman garbed in long, flowing skirts and a moth-eaten cape, an assortment of chunky gold jewellery weighting down a thin, bird-like frame that might, in the absence of the anchor, simply lift into the sky and float away. Sybill Trelawney watched in horror as two men - the blonde in the lead and the darker man a few steps behind, burst into her classroom.

"I say --" she remarked, blinking up at them through thick spectacles. "My class!" Through the humid, candle-lit gloom, she managed to recognise the pale features of Severus Snape, and her trembling lips formed a confused smile. "Pro -- Professor Snape." She could not remember the last time the man had set foot in her tower; in fact, she could not recall him ever doing so. Severus was just the type too, she thought, insubstantial, open to the whispers wrought on currents of foreign wind. Half the time he looked like he had just finished seeing a ghost of someone long dead, and if the opaque white swirls would ever leave her accursed crystal ball, she might have some chance of uncovering exactly what made him that way. Bewildered, she nodded towards the man in the lead. "Have you come to observe a lesson?"

"Go," barked Severus to the students. An assembly of students too foolhardy to have taken up something useful, like Arithmancy, instead of the ridiculous subject of Divination, bolted from their seats, scattering chairs and books as they did so. Ruefully, he realized the rumours of what had happened during Dumbledore's final night in the land of the living had circulated.

"Severus, I --"

"Shut up," interrupted Lucius coldly, stepping in front of Severus to block Trelawney's view. "Are you Professor Sybill Trelawney?"

The bangles on Trelawney's skeletal wrist jangled as she held her hands up in the air, as though clearing away the mundane view presented to her. "Yes," she answered, pleased to be identified. Wizards rarely gave her the credit she deserved for her abilities, seemed to think they could flitter through life without the valuable knowledge she could provide. "Yes, I am! You've heard of me?" Without waiting for a reply, she screwed her eyes closed in deep concentration. "You come from afar," she said, her voice lilting dreamily. "You're on a journey! I know - you've come to me to seek a star chart, haven't you, to determine auspicious days for an important event."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, smirking at Severus, who nodded back gravely. The cloying perfume from the sticks of incense that mad woman insisted on burning were making him nauseous. He had a headache too, probably from the lack of clear air, and sweat was beading on his forehead, no doubt the result of the smouldering fire Trelawney let burn.

"I'm afraid not," spoke Lucius calmly. "We are here about the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Trelawney's eyes were magnified in the odd light by the thickness of her spectacles. "What prophecy?"

Frowning, Lucius shook his head. "You foolish woman! The prophecy, given in 1979, concerning the Dark Lord and a certain other individual - Harry Potter, the 'Boy Who Lived'." Derision was evident in his tone. "I require that prophecy. Tell it to me in full, now, or better yet," he continued, pulling out an empty phial, "give me the full memory."

"But I don't know what you mean."

Lucius' eyes narrowed dangerously. "You dare toy with me? I was sent by the Dark Lord himself."

"Severus?" whispered Trelawney, suddenly fearful. "What is this? What's going on?"

Resolutely looking away, Severus allowed his eyes to settle on a number of curious objects. A mysterious device made of delicate strands of silver wire turned in a slow pirouette, accompanied by music, and a few crystal balls balanced on gold bases, their contents swirling like London fog. Staring into the translucent mist, he caught momentary glimpse of flashing colours -- nothing he could decipher -- which disappeared after just a few seconds.

Clutching his walking stick tightly, Lucius withdrew his wand from its depths. For a moment he paused, simply staring at it, admiring the handiwork. Ollivander had said on more than one occasion that Lucius Malfoy's wand was the most expensive he'd ever sold, and the craftsmanship was obviously. In a graceful gesture, he pressed the tip of the wand against the bird-like woman's throat, his good humour gone. "Give me that prophecy in full, now, and I may permit you to live. Do you understand?"

"No, I --"

"She has obviously forgotten," Severus spoke up, still not looking at the terrified Divination professor. "Perhaps Dumbledore performed an obliviation charm, to clear her mind of the memory. After all, he must have concluded that Our Lord would someday wish to hear what was said."

Lucius nodded crisply. He waved his wand, and violet light momentarily lit Trelawney's features before she crumpled to the ground. "Very well, we can let the Dark Lord see to that. There are ways of loosening tongues and bringing back forgotten memories." He seemed in good cheer as he levitated the fallen woman to float at waist level beside him. "Come."

The two men strode through the halls, accompanied by the unconscious form of the Divination professor, who was practically buried beneath the large number of necklaces and the layers of clothing she wore. Severus felt the tension in his shoulders un-knot at the anticipation of escaping the castle. He did not fear retaliation for his actions, of course; Voldemort had placed Death Eaters in the official positions within the school. However, he had no desire to risk the lives of any more students and was eager to walk out the front door. Lucius, unfortunately, had other plans.

"Ah, Slytherin," he remarked easily, moving gracefully towards the entrance to the Slytherin common room. "I've missed this place. I used to have free rein in the school, of course, when I was a school governor, but afterwards," he glowered. "It has not been my privilege to walk these halls since. However, now, I at last have my opportunity. I wonder if Draco has returned from his classes?"

Severus bowed his way into the common room, noting dryly that nothing had changed. The threadbare, antique hangings still fluttered in the cool draft, and the baroque furnishings shone. It was cold too, just as he remembered. "If not, I'm certain Amycus would be more than willing to summon him for you," he answered cordially. He did not miss being head of house for Slytherin, at least. Just the memory of the cheeky, impertinent brats he'd been forced to deal with made him angry.

Lucius need not have worried. Perched regally in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire, the pale blonde seventeen year old started. "Father!"

"Draco," Lucius purred, oblivious to the stares of the Slytherin students, and the whispers that came when they realized he was floating Sybill Trelawney's body behind him. "I've missed you," he added, strolling over to where Draco sat and planting a kiss on the top of his son's head. His hand lingered a fraction of a second too long on Draco's pale cheek; several of the bolder students snickered, then scampered as Severus shot them a deadly glance. "Enjoying school?"

Jerking away, his face aflame, Draco scowled in the direction of his shoes. "It's fine."

"Only fine?" Lucius teased. He sank into the chair opposite his son's, leaving Severus to stand behind him, like a bodyguard. "If that is the way you feel about it, I'll have words with Our Master about having you dismissed. You could come home again, where you belong. There is a great deal of work to be done, and I hardly feel a few more months of spell recitations is necessary for you. I could train you at home, alone, in some more interesting subjects." His eyes shone bright despite the gloom of the room.

"I like it here," Draco muttered into his hands. His face turned redder as he lifted his head woefully and met Severus' eye. "I want to stay here."

Lucius' expression hardened. "Pity. I could use you back home. I miss our time together, the time we had this summer..."

"As I recall," Severus remarked, to ease the tension. "Amycus and Alecto have instituted a programme of Dark Arts education within the school. No doubt, they are doing an excellent job of passing off their accumulated knowledge." With some effort, Severus was able to smother his snort of derision. Neither of the two blundering siblings had ever struck him as remotely intelligent, but he recognized the desperation in Draco's eyes, having seen it before, when Draco had requested to stay at school over the holidays and begged him to write to Lucius, claiming the boy needed the extra time to study. The ruse had never worked, but Severus still felt a twinge of affection for the child, spoilt though he was. "You should let the boy stay, Lucius, where he can learn among friends, and perhaps work to recruit new members to the Dark Lord's perspective. It's an ideal situation, really."

Draco's shoulders sagged with what could only be termed relief, but Lucius seemed to stiffen. "I only want you home so we can be together," he said in a low voice, leaning closer to his son. "Our relationship had grown so strained in the past few years, always you and that Parkinson bint! Well," he hurried on, forcing control into his voice, "I'm sure she'll make you a fine wife someday. She is a pureblood, after all. However, you are a Malfoy, and my son, and you would do well to remember that." He rose from his chair. "I'll permit you to stay on a while longer, but I'm not sure I can wait for summer to have you by my side, doing your duty for the Dark Lord." He leaned in, pressing his lips against Draco's ear, and his hand clenched Draco's thigh. "I _will_ see you soon."

"Goodbye, father," Draco managed, sounding strangled. "Professor," he added, nodding thankfully. Severus did not miss the way he wrapped his arms around himself as Lucius marched haughtily towards the door, taking care to shove a sixth year out of his way. The boy looked like someone who had been given reprieve on a death sentence, and Severus _knew,_ but did not like to think why.

...

Outside, it was raining; Remus could see the clear water droplets clinging to the picture window which dominated the expansive front room of the Malfoy estate. Transfixed, he stared through the glass, failing to hear the taunts and hisses of the Death Eaters over the insistent tapping of the rain against the glass. More than a month had passed since he had last been afforded a glimpse beyond the confines of the large manor where he was being kept, and Remus found himself abruptly in love with the view through the window, of deep grey clouds spoiling for a storm and the flippant hue of the verdant grass. A clap of thunder bellowed overhead, and Remus actually found himself smiling at the wild sound of nature for an instant, before Bellatrix Lestrange marched over and knocked him down, hard.

Clutching his bruised cheek, Remus blinked up at her, disgust flowing through him. He hated the sight of her cold, mocking eyes, the same colour as Sirius' but devoid of his heat, and he hated that belligerent smirk that curled her pale lips, as though she had a juicy secret she was just bursting to torment him with. Rising somewhat unsteadily from the floor, his eyes resolutely avoiding the temptation of the window, he faced her. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Ignorant fool!" Bellatrix shot back, but her smirk did not fade. "Did you love her, Lupin?"

He thought fleetingly of Ginny, back in their grimy cell, and his eyes widened. "Whom?"

She slapped him. "Your wife," she hissed through gritted teeth. He was spoiling her fun, acting dazed, almost as if he were half-asleep or severely drunk. She preferred a more alert and cautious Remus. Distracted, he seemed to be missing her point. "That filthy half-blood bitch you called _Nym-pha-dor-a_." She spoke the dead woman's name in high-pitched sing-song, expecting _that_ to get a rise out of him, but she was disappointed. He merely rubbed his cheek and regarded his hands as if they were of particular interest to him.

Studying the pale line that crossed the fourth finger of his left hand, Remus nodded slowly. "I suppose I must have done," he answered, before Bellatrix could strike him again. "I proposed to her, didn't I?" He raised his head and looked her full in the face, the corner of his lip pulled up in a vague expression of contentment. Speaking to Bellatrix like that, talking back to her, made him feel as he had when he'd been a boy at Hogwarts and gotten into trouble; a little afraid, and more than a little bit powerful. He remembered the way Sirius had grown courageous in his later years. Instead of lying to cover up yet another faux pas or broken rule he had simply stated, as jauntily and cheerfully as possible, his precise wrongdoing. Sirius had been almost smug about it, as Remus recalled, and he felt smug too, watching Bellatrix flush with anger at his nonchalance

"We killed her," the black-haired woman hissed. Her laughter rang in Remus' ears, deafening. "She's dead!" After a moment, her brow furrowed. "Did you hear me?" she demanded. "We killed her, your wife, my stupid sister's filthy half-blood offspring!"

Swallowing, Remus nodded calmly, as if Bellatrix had merely reported on unpleasant weather ahead. He wished he'd thought to thank Severus for warning him ahead of time; Bellatrix seemed eager to see him in tears about Tonks' murder. "I understand," he said gravely.

"She's dead, that Tonks," Bellatrix spat.

"Yes, I know."

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"

"Why, you've just told me, haven't you?" queried Remus, all feigned innocence. He blinked his amber eyes, gazing at her sedately, and his stomach flipped again, that raucous thrill zipping up his spine.

"Silence!" Bellatrix leered at him, uncomprehending. "You find this _amusing_, werewolf? I'll not fault you for failing to mourn Andromeda's offspring, but I wonder, are you so callous about the fate of your son? Ah ha!" She added quickly, as Remus paled. "Little Teddy _Lupin_ means something to you, now doesn't he?" She smiled, pleased to be rewarded at last with the sight of his pain. "Fenrir Greyback certainly seems very _taken_ with the boy. That's the only reason he didn't join his filthy mother in that grave out back."

Her leer made Remus' stomach turn in a very different way, and he fought back nausea as he looked up at her, dimly aware that his eyes were pleading mercy from the least merciful person he'd ever known. "Don't."

"You'll not threaten me, wolf," she shouted, and stepped back as if he posed any kind of threat. "Our Lord needs an army, and your son, lowly though he may be as the whelp of two half-bloods, has a chance to regain some glory at Fenrir's side. Now you -- you'll never see him again, lest not until some dark, moonlit night when he finds you and rips out your throat for the crime of ever mating with that dirty little whore. What do you think of that, now, Lupin?"

_Very little_, he thought, but he said nothing. Through the window, a purple flash of lightning caught his eye and he shivered, sensing electricity and smelling the ozone along with the damp earth.

"Your Teddy, in the Dark Lord's service -- will it keep you awake at night, Lupin, thinking how many Mudbloods he's killed?" Bellatrix giggled.

He twitched, and raised his eyes to fix a loathsome glance on her.

"Take him downstairs!" Bellatrix commanded, annoyed at the lack of pleasure Remus provided.

"Ginny?" Remus asked softly after the Death Eaters had locked him inside the cell. Someone, he noticed, had restored their food supply; there were a few pieces of fruit and some turkey legs lying on the ground near the door. The water looked fresh as well, and Remus wondered whether Severus' prediction of better treatment had come to pass. Surely, Severus had not brought it, as he had last informed Remus he had been assigned to a task for the day, owing to a item requested by Voldemort. "Ginny, are you awake?"

She was lying on the blankets, precisely where he had left her, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling overhead. "No," she murmured, her voice low.

Despite the grim situation, Remus smiled a bit at that. He licked his lips nervously, wondering if anything had happened to her while he had been gone. "I'm back. It wasn't too bad, just routine interrogation. I'm not sure what they're looking for, because I wasn't given any deep, dark secrets to keep. My work with the Order was fairly circumscribed, owning to my...problem. Soon enough they'll figure out I don't have anything to confess to them, and stop bothering me."

Remus felt his tone had been mild enough, even cheery, but Ginny sobbed.

"What? What is it?"

"When they stop questioning you, they'll kill you!" she whispered, horror-struck. "They'll drag you out, and murder you -- you'll be gone, and I'll be alone!"

"No! No, don't worry!" Remus said quickly, abandoning the notion of eating as he hurried across the cell to where she was sitting up on the bed, the flesh around her eyes pink from crying. With a start, Remus realised she had probably been worried all along that he would never come back, and he dropped down to his knees on the blanket, reaching for Ginny as she held her arms out to him. "I'm here," he said firmly. "They won't kill me." It was an empty promise, and he was certain she knew that as well as he, but it seemed Ginny held onto him even tighter for it.

"Remus," she whispered, and he shivered at the needy way in which she spoke his name.

Stroking her hair, he closed his eyes. "I'm here."

"I get so scared," Ginny mourned. "Every time I hear someone move out there, I think they're coming for one of us. They killed my family." Her voice shook, and she grimaced, grateful for the feel of Remus' hands as he gently rubbed her back. "I'm so afraid they're going to kill you next. I don't know what I'd do! I think I'd want to die, if I was here by myself."

"Don't say that," Remus answered her back softly. He shivered, feeling her hands rove over his shoulders and then touch his hair. The anxiety and pent-up energy of his incarceration, not to mention the run-in with Bellatrix, made him shake, and he blamed the trembling of his body on that.

Ginny murmured something which was lost to him, but Remus did not miss her fingertips trailing down the side of his face as she gingerly touched the bruises Bellatrix had inflicted, then traced the line of his jaw. She was close, _very close_, her eyes halfway closed.

"Ginny," Remus started to say, warning her away, but he couldn't speak, seeing as he had already closed the distance between them and gently brushed his lips against Ginny's.

Her mouth felt warm -- warm and yielding -- and she was kissing him back with the same insistence he felt, clutching at his clothes. Remus found it all too easy to lean her back against the blanket, and to let one hopeful hand slide beneath the flimsy fabric of that Muggle blouse she wore, exploring her body even as he berated himself his weakness. He should be stopping -- no, he should be _fleeing_. The thought of how forceful her glare would be, how scandalised she would certainly look when they both returned to their senses should have prompted him into leaping up aghast and apologetic, but it was just too tempting to stay where he was, and so he did, holding Ginny in a crushing embrace and kissing her as though he had been born for nothing else.

...

Comments welcome!


	6. Doux

**_Doux_**

...

_Crash into my arms_

_I want you_

_You don't agree, but you don't refuse_

_I know you _- The Smiths "_Jack the Ripper_"

...

"_I __will show you a love potion without drug or herb, or any witch's spell; if you wish to be loved, love" _- Hecato

...

Morning cold struck with brutal force. Half-awake to the chill, half still entangled in the embroidery of dreams, Remus Lupin kept his eyes shut to the pre-dawn darkness as he groped about for his blanket, intending to drag it up to his chin in a no doubt futile attempt to bring the feeling back to his body. The blanket was not settled around his waist, or tangled around his legs. It was not tucked under his arms either, as it was wont to do on occasions when his dreams had been particularly vivid. He had not rolled over and left it behind either, because it was not beneath him.

Curious, Remus' hands stretched across the floor, sliding on the cold cement in search of his scrap. Finally, bewildered and more than a little jolted from sleep by the bitter cold, he opened his eyes, meeting the ceiling with an expression of resignation. Inky black, the jail exposed no secrets for him immediately, but after a few minutes, he was able to see well enough, and sat up, wondering if he had tossed his covers aside after some particularly vicious thrashing. His dreams, after all, had been wild.

A few inches from him, Ginny mumbled something in her sleep, and Remus realised where the blankets had gone. The girl had taken not only the entire pile he'd allotted her, but the single feeble covering he had kept aside for himself. Cuddled in the covers, she looked downright comfortable, and Remus spared a moment to smile, wondering as he did so whether he dared wake her in order to get his blanket back. The last thing he needed in the hovel was frostbite, after all. However, as his arm snaked over to her shoulder, intending to shake her awake, a bolt of pure terror went through him. All at once, his mind woke up enough to remember the kisses - delicate at first, and tentative, slowly growing rougher and more possessive as Ginny responded to him. The previous night, he had been able to tune out the nagging voice of his conscience. In the cold morning, however, all his doubts and worries rushed back full force. He pulled his hand away from Ginny beneath he could brush against her, as if fearful he might taint her with a touch.

"Mm...Remus?" she asked, stirring anyway. Eyes closed, she turned to face him, blindly searching for his familiar presence. Her hand slid over to the spot where he normally rested, which had already gone cold from lack of body heat, and he saw her brow furrow with confusion.

"I'm here," came his reply, voice leaden. He clenched his jaw, furious with himself as he watched her come fully to, her pink lips parted and her red hair in tangles. Last night, she had seemed -- well, perhaps not of age, but near enough for the infraction not to sting. Now, with spots of red high on her cheeks and her forehead smooth and peaceful from slumber, she looked way too young for him to even consider laying a hand upon. Remembering Severus' callous words about the Death Eaters desiring the pretty young prisoners, Remus felt his stomach turn as guilt overpowered him.

Ginny managed to open her eyes just a fraction. They glittered pale brown. "You're awake already? It's awfully early isn't it?"

"It's too cold. The chill woke me up," Remus answered slowly, unable to meet her gaze.

"Oh. Oh, well, here," Ginny offered, holding up the blankets that cocooned her to make room for him to join her in the warm nest. From his angle, Remus could see that the top three buttons of her blouse had been left unbuttoned, exposing a bit of creamy skin. He had done that, last night when the act had seemed so needful it had almost been pure. _Almost... _

"It's not bad at all under here. Quite warm, really. Come on."

"No." Remus looked away, concentrating on the bars.

She frowned, cocking her head. "Why not?"

"I -- I've made a mistake," he said mournfully, still not looking at Ginny. Afraid the guilt would be on display on his face, he kept looking resolutely in the opposite direction as he clutched his head in his hands, his fingers thrust into his hair. "I've done something wrong."

He did turn to face her, however, when a sob escaped Ginny's throat. For a horrible moment, his face burned red, terrified that she would unleash an outpouring of fury, or start to cry about the abuse he had inflicted on her. Sixteen! Sixteen, Remus! his mind taunted. It would be easier, he knew, to withstand her anger. Ginny crying made him dissolve with heartbreak under the supportive exterior he attempted to display at all times.

"What do you mean?" she asked, horrified. "What kind of mistake?" Her voice caught and she felt the pinprick of threatening tears. "Did you say something wrong when they were questioning you?"

It took Remus a second to understand what she was talking about. "What? The Death Eaters?"

She nodded vigorously. "You aren't in danger, are you? Worse than usual, I mean. You don't think they might --" she gasped, hiding her own face in her hands -- "want to hurt you?" she continued, voice muffled. "They wouldn't kill you, would they? They can't!"

Bemused, Remus crept away from the bars, a little closer to Ginny. He reached out one arm, wishing he could pat her shoulder comfortingly, or perhaps rub her back. Physical contact, the brief flaring heat of it, seemed to make even the worst circumstances tolerable, but he did not dare. He knew he had no right to her, did not deserve the trust that made her look up from her sobs, her eyes searching his expression for answers and reassurance.

"No, Gin, no." Instantly, he blanched. He had called her that the previous night, lost in her arms, marking a path of kisses down her throat, to her collarbones, to the edge of her bra. He would have gone further too -- certainly she had not pushed him away -- except his innate sense of decency, his awareness of his own wrongness, the constant understanding that he did not deserve the brief moments of light and joy that occasionally found him despite his lycanthropy, the curse. "Ginevra," he corrected himself, trying to blot emotion from his voice. "It's nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"I," he began, and faltered, embarrassed and afraid. Shaking his head woefully, Remus stammered on. "Last -- last night. I've been under great strain here, as we all have. You, merely craving company -- I'm afraid I took advantage." Biting his bottom lip so hard it bled, he raked his fingernails down his face, leaving thin pink lines that vanished almost at once. "I have no explanation, but I do want you to know, I'm very sorry for what I've done. I had no right, and I understand how angry you must be with me, and --"

"Stop it!"

He raised his eyes to meet her face, noting the expected fury there, etched across her delicate features. "I'm so terribly sorry, Ginevra."

"I said, don't!" Her eyes gleamed. "Why are you saying that? What are you apologising to me for?"

"For what I've done," Remus answered softly. "I understand, my words are meaningless. I've been selfish, completely greedy. I know I can't make that up to you, but I wish I could."

"Don't," Ginny whispered. "Don't tell me you're sorry. Last night was the first time I've felt safe since I was brought to this place. It's the first time I've been happy in -- forever. So, if you regret being with me, if you are disgusted by the memory that you touched me, keep it to yourself, okay?" The tears had begun streaming down her face, falling slow, but she did not wipe them away.

Shocked, Remus gaped at her, completely at a loss. "But, what I did was wrong! You're sixteen, a child --"

"I'm not!"

" -- and I'm old enough to be your father, practically. I was your professor, Ginevra! It's sick what I've done, it's wrong, it's against the law and, and -- you deserve better."

Ginny leapt to her feet, throwing aside the blankets, and Remus could see the bare skin of her legs beneath her skirt, which was hitched up and twisted around from sleep. "It's Ginny, I've told you! You're ten years younger than my father is -- was," she added, with a heavy sigh. Sniffling, she grimaced, shoving aside the memory of her father. "And you're not my professor anymore, and haven't been for years. You said so yourself."

"Twenty-one years your senior, I'll thank you to remember," Remus said, with such bitter forcefulness than Ginny laughed. He met her gaze. "And old enough to take responsibility for my actions."

"They weren't just yours," Ginny reminded him, coy despite her tears. "I'm old enough to take responsibility as well, if it comes down to that. Sixteen is only a year shy of being of age." She brushed hair out of her eyes. "Remus, I wanted to as much as you did."

"But --" he stopped and stared at her, open-mouthed. "But, of course you didn't."

"Yes, I did." Creeping closer to him, timid step by timid step as if fearing he might retreat, Ginny swallowed nervously. "I did, and I do, and I don't regret anything." Her palm rested against his cheek -- Remus closed his eyes involuntarily, savouring her touch -- and she touched his hair with the other hand. "Please," she added, moving closer so that her breath ghosted across his skin, sending all of Remus' senses brightly alert. "Say you don't regret me."

Remus wanted to wrench away, to make her understand what he truly was and how he did not deserve this kindness, but he was powerless to move. "Ginny, I shouldn't have --"

Her lips were pressed against the corner of his mouth; Remus could feel the vibration as she spoke. "Tell me you aren't sorry."

"I'm -- not -- sorry," Remus spoke with great effort, clenching his hands around her blouse. He bent his forehead against her shoulder, seeking absolution, but Ginny lifted his chin with one finger, and kissed him. For a moment, he held still save for his trembling, at war with the guilt inside him that taunted him as Ginny touched him. Then, shrugging it off, he decided it was time to believe the many people who had assured him of his worth, his decency, his goodness. His grip on her clothes slackened, and his fingers knotted in Ginny's hair, kissing her with abrupt and needful force.

Her hands slid up his thighs, making him shudder with the sudden arousal, and he kissed her even harder, breaking through the barrier of her lips with his tongue, seeking out her taste. Urgently, he fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, then gave up, and simply tore it away. Ginny made no protest, but kissed him back roughly, sliding onto his lap as they both fell to the floor in an embrace. The stone floor beneath Remus' legs no longer chilled him, especially once Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.

"Are you having fun, Remus?" queried a haughty voice from beyond their cell, and Remus felt the cold abruptly return to his body, so that his limbs felt made of rock. Slowly, he turned his head towards the bars, hoping beyond hope that he had mistaken the voice. His wish was not granted, however, and Bellatrix Lestrange stood outside the cell, looking ragged and sullen, but still imposing. "Touching a Weasley," she remarked with disdain, catching sight of Ginny's flaming hair. "Disgusting."

Rising on numb legs, Remus shot Bellatrix a glare made all the more fierce by the passion aroused with him. He picked up one of the blankets from the floor and wrapped it firmly around Ginny's shoulders, taking care to brush his fingers across her face in what he hoped was a soothing communication that things would be all right. However, Ginny looked miserable, and terrified, and Remus knew in spite of his hopes she was probably right to fear whatever lay ahead for them.

"You make a bad case for yourself, defiling yourself with a filthy blood traitor like that," Bellatrix continued, leering at Ginny, who gasped and backed away. "The Dark Lord will not be pleased."

"What your Voldemort thinks is of no concern to me," stated Remus with far more boldness than he felt.

Bellatrix' face darkened. "Incarcerous!" she shouted.

Instantly, Remus felt his arms clamp down against his sides, as if he were tied with rope, or perhaps held fast in an iron vise. Distantly, he heard Ginny scream in horror as she realised something was wrong with him, but Remus could not turn to comfort her, because his legs were immobile as well.

"Let him go! What are you doing?" shouted Ginny. "Stop it!"

"Be quiet, you stupid girl," snapped Bellatrix. "You think I have any qualms about killing a nasty blood traitor like you?" She waved her wand and whispered 'alohomora' to unlock the door of the cage, and with another brutal slash of the wand through thin air, Remus felt himself falling backwards. He braced himself for the painful collision with the stone floor, but was caught by Bellatrix' levitation spell in time.

Ginny was crying, loudly, and Remus struggled to free himself from the bonds that held him, but he was tightly bound and unable to move. Speaking too was impossible; he could not move his lips or utter a single syllable, much to his horror.

"Where are you taking him?" Ginny managed to sob.

Bellatrix sneered, baring her teeth. "Upstairs, to the master. Our werewolf has a job to do. Sit tight, pretty -- he'll be back, if he performs his task adequately. If not, you won't have long to worry."

...

R&R please. :)


	7. Sang Et Mémoire

_**Sang Et Mémoire**_

_..._

_I am a lone wolf_

_Nobody needs to get too close to me_

_You'll only see this truth_

_I am a lone wolf _- The Eels, "_Lone Wolf_"

...

Ascending up the circular stone steps was like emerging from a long stay under the sea. Remus' eyes, so used to the dark, stung and watered at the sight of the guttering candlelight and the rich flow of sunshine through the high windows, while he gulped fresh air that replaced the stale oxygen in his lungs. He felt a moment of irrational panic, an agoraphobia he had never known before, and longed momentarily for the confines of his narrow cage. They had not brought him up so high within the manor before, and he did not suppose it would bode well.

"In here," Bellatrix snapped, shoving him in through an open doorway with such force that Remus staggered and dropped to his knees, catching himself with the heels of his hands to avoid hitting his face, as Bellatrix undid the binding curse just in time. There was no scrape of stone beneath him, just lush carpeting, and the warmth of the roaring fire opposite made him all the more nervous. He wondered if they had brought him into the pleasant surroundings in order to kill him, or perhaps to taunt him before incarcerating him in an even worse prison.

Two hooded Death Eaters swooped over to Bellatrix, whispering with her, and Remus took advantage of his momentary freedom to look around the room. It was circular, and pleasant. The furniture was baroque, of course - he had decided long ago, due to the brief glimpses of the house to which he had been treated, that the Malfoys quite favoured the style - and the fire gave off a rich perfume he could not identify, but which made him drowsy. Across the way, a woman was crouched on her hands and knees, looking plainly terrified. It was no wonder, as three Death Eaters had encircled her, wands out. For a moment, Remus studied her, puzzled. She seemed vaguely familiar, though he name eluded him. Then, as she raised her head woefully and examined him in turn through her thick spectacles, he remembered.

Remus had never particularly liked Sybill Trelawney. They had met for the first time shortly after his appointment as the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he had not seen her again since leaving the position near the end of the year, but their few brief encounters stood out in his mind nonetheless. Her reputation as a fraud and caricature of a Seer had preceded their first meeting, carried to Remus mainly by the dismissive snorts and irate whispers of his students after they trudged from her tower to his classroom, inevitably mumbling about her frequent predictions of death and the futility of searching the stars for clues to one's own violent demise. In his kindness, he had often shushed them, certain that their mutinous mumblings were the result of a difficult course of study, not a personal flaw in their teacher. However, after speaking to her for the first time, he had stopped defending her and turned a deaf ear to the students' complaints, letting them smear her discreetly under their breath.

He would not soon forget the first time she had entered his office, sparkling beneath an assembly of clanging bracelets and shimmering scarves. Trelawney was a thin woman, as fragile as smoke, but she had seemed imposing as she had hurried up to him, slammed her hands down on his desk and intimated the vision she'd had of him committing a brutal violent crime. The moon as already a waxing gibbous by that point, and Severus had already set to brewing the Wolfsbane potion, so instead of laughing off her predictions or calmly insisting that she was mistaken, he had fretted. Remus had learned all too soon that his response had been exactly what she had hoped for. Like a dementor, she seemed to feed on his worry, his fear and his despair, and she had made a habit of trailing after him in the halls, shouting dire warnings and offering to read his palm, his tea leaves and his star charts in order to provide more precise details about when he would commit his crimes and what the outcomes would be. More often than not, her warnings included fantasies of long stays in Azkaban, although several times she had seen his death by decapitation or silver bullet, the latter of which had sent him into a panic attack so bad that he had cowed behind his desk during three days' worth of lessons, fearful of his life.

Now, _she_ seemed to fear _him_. Trelawney's eyes were wide with fright, and she shook her head, hands out, as if warding him off. Remus' conversations with Dumbledore during his appointment as professor, and the long, languid afternoons spent in bed with Sirius idly chattering about their lives apart had set his mind at rest long ago. Trelawney was an old fraud, as the students had espoused. Her hands flitting about as if to ward off the evil eye meant nothing, and he knew it. Still, he felt sorry for her, the dislike ebbing away due to their solidarity as prisoners of Voldemort's followers.

"He will not be returning immediately, as I have already told you," spoke a familiar voice. Remus' ears perked up, recognising it as belonging to Severus Snape. "The Dark Lord is extremely busy at the moment, and cannot get away simply to return here at the bidding of his followers. In any case, he does not believe our lycanthropic friend is yet up to the task, and has no desire to witness his failure on this first attempt."

Bellatrix was furious. "Then why was I not told?"

"He trusted me to deliver the message, as I've shown him routinely that I am quite capable of so doing."

"But I'm his most loyal follower!" Bellatrix snapped, not pacified. "He trusts me the most. We have a closeness you could scarcely even wish for. I should have been told directly, by him, not made to wait around for your word like a common lackey!"

Severus stifled a yawn, staring insolently back at Bellatrix as if her temper was of only mild interest to him. "I am certain," he said coolly, "that once he does return, he will be more than happy to answer your many questions himself. You may ask him about it then, personally."

"I don't need your permission to speak to him!"

"No, of course you don't," answered Severus casually. He offered a wan, careless sort of smile. "But if we may, Bellatrix, there is important work to be done at the Ministry. Williamson and Savage are rallying the Aurors -- there are a large number of new recruits, including a good quarter of the Gryffindors who left school last year -- and if we do not act quickly, our control over the few valuable Ministry officials we own could be compromised. I very much doubt whether our Lord would be tolerant of your opinions if he realised your negligence to this assignment lost him control at the Ministry."

Irate and shaking from her fury, Bellatrix plunged her hand into her robes, intending to draw her wand and duel Severus then and there, but she was interrupted by the arrival of Lucius Malfoy. Turning towards him, she was distracted; Severus' silent 'expelliarmus' knocked the wand from her hand, which clattered onto the floor at his feet.

"As I was saying," Severus spoke, unruffled. He knelt and collected the wand. "We ought to hurry."

Lucius looked from Bellatrix to Severus and back again, raising one pale eyebrow in a silent question. Then he decided he would be better off not knowing, and merely nodded. "You there, werewolf!" came his command, and Remus involuntarily rose to his feet, turning toward the blonde. "The Dark Lord has a special privilege indeed in store for you."

"You recognise her, I think," said Severus, nodding towards Trelawney, who cowered under his withering stare.

Remus nodded. "Yes."

"Several years ago, in 1979, actually, Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy to Albus Dumbledore, regarding the Dark Lord and Harry Potter," interrupted Lucius, keen to watch the werewolf's expression. "Thanks to our friend Severus, we were made aware of it in fact, though it took us significant effort to finally hear it in its entirety." Lucius smiled slightly as Remus' hazel eyes flicked over to Severus', widening in shock. "We knew enough to target the Potters, and to make an attempt on the boy's life," Lucius added, and was rewarded with a gasp from Remus, who paled. "Unfortunately, more subtle details were lost to us, until very recently. Albus Dumbledore used a number of charms to conceal the memory of this prophecy from Trelawney, so that she was not able to remember what she had spoken of, or tell anyone else of it. Of course, now, we've managed to break those spells and have the prophecy in full. The woman is no longer of value."

Startled, struggling to conceptualise the information Lucius had given him - that it had been Severus who had ensured the death of James and Lily by reporting on the prophecy - Remus blinked. "You'll -- you won't be returning her to the school, am I right?"

"Right in one," agreed Lucius cordially. "You must understand, she is now a liability. We could erase her memory, of course, but there is always a risk that someone could find out what we've done, and break our curses as we have broken Dumbledore's. She has seen too much. She knows our location, knows names and could recognise faces. She's a danger, one which must be eliminated."

Silently, Remus stared forward, unseeing.

Undaunted, Lucius continued. "You are being given an opportunity to prove yourself. The Dark Lord finds your kind quite valuable. Most werewolves enjoy the thrill of the hunt, the scent of blood, the excitement of the kill. Severus implies you are different from the rest, but we still believe you could be an asset."

"You want me to kill her."

"We do, yes," Lucius said, smiling. "The Dark Lord will repay you greatly for your service, should you see fit to serve."

Raising his head, Remus looked at Severus, avoiding Lucius. "I won't."

"I did tell you," Severus said to Lucius.

"Kill her," spoke Lucius, ignoring Severus completely, "and you will be rewarded. You will be moved to nicer quarters, given access to good food and hot water, a decent bed to sleep on instead of that pile of rags in your cell. You'll be allowed to walk the grounds, to run free on the premises in the moonlight, forced only to put up with a few spells to keep you in check, to ensure you do not harm any loyalists. What do you think, Lupin? Severus has told us how you like your tea, your chocolate, your books. Would you not consider them ample reward for putting a virtual stranger out of her misery for us?"

Everything Lucius spoke of sounded wonderfully appealing, but Remus did not find himself strongly tempted. It was true, he did not know Trelawney well. They shared no intimate bond of friendship, no precious memories. He knew, too, that given to Bellatrix or one of the other Death Eaters -- Fenrir Greyback came to mind -- she would suffer a cruel, slow death. Still, he knew he could not do it. "No."

"Your son, Lupin, think of your son," Lucius went on, unsurprised. He had been expecting the staunch refusals. "Teddy, isn't it? Your wife spoke of him most fondly before she died, begged to be assured he would be joining you in your cell; she was so desperately afraid of what would happen to him, if he were left alone. Comply, and we can arrange for you to see him. Think of it, Lupin, visitations with your son. Prowling with him, on the night of his first transformation, which is only days away as I recall. Don't you want that?"

"Of course I do," came Remus' reply through gritted teeth. It hurt to be reminded of Teddy's condition, inflicted upon him by Greyback. "I love my son!"

"Of course, of course," spoke Lucius. He touched Remus' shoulder reassuringly. "Then kill her, Lupin. It needn't be too painful, or too savage, and then we will bring you and your son to new quarters. Just do it."

"I can't."

Exasperated, Lucius glared at Remus through silvery eyes, setting his jaw angrily at Bellatrix' cackle of mocking laughter. "Fine," he spoke through clenched teeth. "You care nothing for your own comforts, or the comforts of your son? Then hear this, werewolf - do as we have instructed, or the little Weasley girl will join Trelawney in death. Do you understand?"

Wildly, Remus' heart pounded in his chest so hard he thought it might burst through his ribcage. "No! Severus -- you can't let them --"

"Quiet!" ordered Bellatrix, pushing him to the ground. "I told you this one wouldn't cooperate," she hissed at Severus. "He's lived among wizards too long, fancies himself one of us instead of an animal, a brute. My cousin, _Saint Sirius_," she crooned poisonously, "he thought this one was worth something. Took you under his wing, didn't he, Lupin? Called you his friend, acted like you were normal, treated you like his equal, isn't that so? Disgusting! He never had any pride, or he wouldn't have allowed you to lick his muddy boots. You ought to be put down like any other mangy cur, the way my dear cousin was put down. I'd love to be the one who does the job, just like I did with him."

"Now, Bella," spoke Lucius softly, placing a hand on her arm. "No need to shout. I do believe Remus is having a change of heart." He smiled broadly at Remus. "What do you say then, Lupin? Will you do it?"

Shaking badly, Remus nodded. "I have no choice, do I?"

"No," answered Lucius brightly. "None."

Getting back onto his feet with difficultly, Remus licked his lips nervously. "I -- I need a wand."

"What for?"

"To do it," he said quietly, wishing he could shield his words from Trelawney, who was horror-struck. He could hear her, making mewling sounds as she struggled to push away the Death Eaters that guarded her. "To perform the Avada Kedavra."

Bellatrix' laughter was like thunder. "A werewolf -- with a wand?" she crowed, triumphant with her amusement. Despite the fact that it had been she who had wrested his wand from him, she seemed flabbergasted by the very idea of him being armed. "Have you ever heard something so ridiculous? You sound like the Mudbloods, Lupin, the way they beg for their wands back, insisting '_oh, but I know magic' _--" she imitated a particularly squeaky voiced Muggle born -- "claiming they have some right to wizarding knowledge."

"Calm yourself, Bellatrix," ordered Severus crisply. He turned to Lucius. "I don't see why he shouldn't be permitted to perform the curse, Lucius. He is willing to do so."

"He is not yet loyal, however, Severus, or have you forgotten? This tribute has been coaxed out of him through threat. With a wand, he would be a danger." Unlike Bellatrix, Lucius did not seem to think a wand-bearing werewolf was a joke. "Perhaps later, when he has proven himself..."

Severus whitened somewhat, his hands curled into tight fists. He was worried, but did his best not to display any fear on Lupin's behalf. If he wanted to help, he would need to master his impulses, as he had done without significant difficulty since Lily's death. Showing emotion would only cast suspicion on him; he had already noticed Bellatrix watching him sternly, as if expecting to see an outpouring of mercy at any moment. Steady, he nodded. "You're right. Well, Lupin," he spoke, managing to sound contemptuous. "You're a werewolf, I'm sure you can figure something out. Dispose of her, now, or the girl dies!"

Somehow, Remus found himself creeping forward on legs which trembled and threatened to spill him onto the ground. His hands felt curiously empty without a wand, despite the fact that he had not held on in quite some time. Avoiding Trelawney, who moaned under her breath and frantically waved her hands in the air as though to summon protection from some alternate universe, he continued on, his mind whirling. He had never summoned the wolf within. Indeed, he had done everything in his power to suppress it. Keeping his temper in check, faithfully guzzling his potion when the moon rose full -- he had fought lycanthropy like a conscious enemy, never allowing the subtle wants of the wolf to possess him. Now, however, he had no choice. He had to kill, a hard enough task as it was, and he had no weapon. Closing his eyes, he whispered to the wolf, bidding it come forward and do the work he could not bear to accomplish.

"No!" shouted Trelawney as he approached. "No. I -- I see in the stars, the oracles speak to me -- I see your downfall should you continue this evil path. Please," she called, searching the blank masks of the Death Eaters for sympathy. "This is not the way. I can help you, show you --"

She was not able to finish her words, because at that moment, Remus leapt, and Trelawney's voice spiralled into a high-pitched, pain-filled scream.

Teeth bared, Remus pounced onto her with a curious grace he had seldom possessed in human form, knocking her easily to the ground with such force that her thick spectacles fell off and broke. Her head hit the ground hard too, and blood matted her hair. As if from a great distance, Remus observed himself scenting his prey for weakness, closing in on her jugular vein, from which he could smell the lure of blood. With curious detachment, he watched as Trelawney pleaded for help and attempted to push him away, but she was a feeble opponent, and before long he was able to snap his jaws closed around her neck, tearing away the flesh so that blood gutted forth, drenching his face and clothes. The woman stopped screaming, her body convulsing for a moment as Remus continued to bite and bite, over and over, viciously ensuring her death.

It was a long time later that Remus found himself lying on the floor, surrounded by blood-stained carpet. He came back to humanity to the sensation of Severus Snape stroking his wet hair back from his face. Severus' hand lingered on his cheek an instant too long, until the man busied himself with pouring an awful tasting brew down Remus' throat. Trying to swallow, Remus choked instead, recalling the vision of Trelawney crying out in pain and fright, the odour of her blood coppery in his nostrils.

"For dreamless sleep," Severus said, bending down low so he could whisper the words into Remus' ear. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Death Eaters dragging the dead woman's remains were far enough away not to overhear before turning back to Remus, whose skin was starkly white beneath the garish red of Trelawney's blood. He was shaking violently. "I'm sorry," Severus added, but Remus had already descended into sleep, his eyes open because he was too weary to close them, but seeing only black.


	8. Au Crépuscule

**Au Crépuscule**

_..._

"_'Tis midnight now. The bend and broken moon, batter'd and black, as from a thousand battles, hangs silent on the purple walls of Heaven_." - Joaquin Miller

"_A year, ten years from now, I'll remember this; not why, only that we were here like this, together." _- Adrienne Rich

...

"My word --" spoke a female voice, which roused Remus from the solitary comfort of sleep. Stubbornly, he kept his eyes closed, chasing fragments of hellish dreams as if they might expose some hidden truth for him. There was something he needed to remember, something he must not allow himself to forget, some secret he must lock away in his heart forever, lest he lose sight of what he was. But Severus' potion made achieving consciousness a heavy task and slow, and the dreams kept flitting away from him like kites in high wind, leaving only reddish-tinted darkness behind his closed eyelids.

"That blood!" gasped the woman, her voice betraying a hint of fear that Remus, even in his somnolent state, detected. He thought he recognised it, though not well; even worried, the woman sounded slightly haughty and aloof, as if the wizard at her side was not her equal but her inferior. It was not of much interest to him, however, as he hovered on the edge between waking and sleeping, far more interested in what his night visions could tell him.

The man's voice was stern, his intentions focussed on the serious work at hand. He did not much offer the woman comfort, though Remus thought he could detect the man's desire so to do.

"Most of it isn't his," spoke Severus Snape through gritted teeth as he moved his hands gently over the torn, bloody trousers. The werewolf had torn his clothing to shreds in the aftermath of the murder, though whether on nightmare-inspired accident or purpose Severus did not know. Remus' robes hung over his body like a dark shroud, wet with blood, but as Severus peeled the cloth away, he was treated to the unhappy sight of a number of wounds of varying severity.

Curiosity infused the woman's voice. "Most?"

There was a hollow sound, as though someone had struck a piece of furniture in outrage. "We didn't do anything to him. What wounds he has, he inflicted upon himself. I had hoped that potion -- damn it -- I told Lucius and Avery --"

Remus felt a sudden sting on his thigh, the sensation of someone dabbing cold liquid onto his leg, and heard Severus mutter impatiently as the wound was treated.

"Werewolf bites. Can't do a thing for it."

Dimly, Remus thought of the early days of his childhood, standing on the grass in halcyon summer, watching the sun set large, golden and scarlet. Too many years had passed for Remus to remember what he had been thinking that particular early June evening, though he remembered the scratchy wool of grey short trousers against his legs and the feel of the toy aeroplane in one hand, a gift from a Muggle aunt who knew nothing about witches or wizards and would be told, after that terrible night, that he had been savaged by a rabid dog.

Although he did not remember precisely, Remus always associated those last few minutes of childhood with innocence and a carefree bliss he had never experienced since. He had stopped being a child that night, whatever his years numbered; life had become a series of hearings in imposing dark rooms within the Ministry, experimental treatments administered at St Mungo's, horrible family discussions where his father was stern and his mother cried behind her handkerchief. Young Remus, studious and smart, stopped expecting adults to pat his head and remark upon his scholastic dedication, and instead became used to being scowled at by older wizards, who kept their children well out of range even when the moon was new or waning.

Moment from the attack, he had been wonderfully, terribly naive about the world he lived in, with all its shadows and monsters who lunged and bit with jagged teeth. A silhouette against the dying sun; he had paid no attention but merely held his aeroplane up to the clouds, dreaming of flight, eager to try the toy broom his father had discussed buying in a few weeks' time. Then the dark figure had come closer, with impossible speed, not a man but a wolf -- but no, not a wolf, precisely, but some combination of man and beast. Large and shaggy and grey, with mean yellow eyes, it had leapt, and the aeroplane had fallen. Remus' shorts and the white shirt, which he had kept pristine on his mother's orders, were covered with blood and dirt, and the pain had been everywhere at once.

_No_, he thought, drawing a little nearer full consciousness. The attack of Fenrir Greyback had been years and years ago, over three decades past. He had been a small boy then, and was now a grown man, too weary sometimes to believe his body was only thirty-seven. _But Severus' words, the werewolf bite_ - Remus opened his eyes to a hazy, blurred vision of a blonde woman kneeling beside Severus. The latter insisting on dabbing his bleeding leg with something purple which smoked and stung, while the former passed her wand over his body, spurring his healing abilities into action.

The blonde woman bent nearer, taking the purple liquid from Severus and handing him a phial of something clear and sparkling. Remus narrowed his eyes, trying to capture a better view of her features, because surely, she could not be who he thought she was. Narcissa Malfoy had never had a kind bone in her body, yet the blonde was smoothing back his hair, dabbing tears -- _tears_, Remus marvelled, _I'm human enough for tears _-- from his eyes, applying a cold compress to his arm, which felt broken.

Whomever she was, the woman with the uncanny resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy turned to Severus, her hand on his arm. "He killed that Trelawney woman, then? Lucius told me that was the plan."

"Yes," came Severus' answer through gritted teeth as he tried to mend the deep, long gash on Remus' leg.

"And you think he did this to himself why?"

"Out of remorse, I'd guess," Severus commented, still focussed. "I don't know how he managed it. The potion I gave him should have sedated him, and kept away any nightmares. Someone should have kept watch, seen to it he didn't harm himself. I should have stayed here."

Narcissa patted his arm again. "Don't blame yourself."

"Who else do you suggest I blame?" His words were curt, angry, but he was gentle as he gave up his potions and reached for bandages, hoping to bind the bite wound and stem the flow of blood at least a little. "I'm supposed to be helping him. He was better off without my efforts." Wrapping the bandages around Remus' leg, he frowned, interrupting Narcissa when she attempted to speak. "That broken bone is going to need treatment as well," he said, looking up at Remus' arm.

Pushing Severus aside, Narcissa bent lower over Remus, her fingers tracing the pattern of the radius and ulna. "Let me do this. I was always a natural at healing charms," she said. "You haven't forgotten, I assume, the bones of _yours_ I healed, when you and Lucius would come home from those scraps?"

"I've not forgotten," Severus said, head bowed as Narcissa touched her wand to Remus' arm and slowly spoke a spell that sounded like a song, that made his arm feel as though it were simultaneously numb with cold and tingling with warmth. "Hold him a moment. I want to give him something to make him sleep." Remus felt Severus press a bottle of fluid to his mouth, which felt like sickly-sweet syrup going down his throat. He tried to thank the other man, once Severus pulled away, but the darkness caught him too quickly, and Remus succumbed.

...

"You're awake."

Severus proclamation was met with stony silence. He stepped inside the bedroom in which Remus had been accommodated, his eyes adjusting to the sullen gloom within. There were candles on the dressing table, and though Remus' wand had not been returned, Severus knew Lupin was reasonably competent at wandless magic. He had not taken to the subject with the ease of his bolder friends - Severus felt a pang of old envy at the memory of Sirius Black, who had accomplished the feat the first day it was taught - but he, like Severus, had studied hard and, with determination, succeeded. Severus had needed wandless magic to fend off Black and Potter's curses, Remus had needed it so not to face embarrassment in front of his friends. Tossing his dark hair back, Severus forced himself not to think of anything he and the werewolf had in common.

"How are you feeling?" he asked brusquely, crossing the room. Remus was sitting in one of the two chairs the bedroom contained. They were not the nicest furnishings in the manor, but of excellent quality all the same. Both were covered in pale blue silk woven through with the pattern of weeping willows. Instead of reclining, Remus sat ramrod straight in the strictest posture Severus had ever observed, his hands grasping the arms of the chair with such force he had managed to rip some of the cloth. Stuffing peeked through by his fingertips.

In the waning light of the evening, Remus' features were shadowed. His eyes glowed faintly orange, and he did not blink, or turn his head to face Severus as he spoke. His voice sounded ancient, as if it had been years and not hours since he had last spoken. "How do you think I feel?"

"Do you hurt?" Severus asked, rephrasing the question. Silently, he cursed himself for the mistake; of course, the man opposite him was beating himself up still, for the murder. Severus too knew the guilt of such an aftermath, though he gave himself a stern mental shake. Attachment, sympathy -- all was verboten within the manor, and indiscretion could get them both killed, considering Remus was not yet considered loyal. "Your leg, does it feel any better? Has the potion helped?"

Remus waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing the question. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"Who?"

Finally, Remus tilted his face so he could make eye contact with Severus. Someone, perhaps Narcissa, had siphoned the blood off of him and dressed him in fresh robes - Severus rather doubted the man had taken the initiative and done so himself - but he still looked imposing, something both more and less than human. "The woman. Professor -- Sybill."

"Yes." Severus nodded once, crisply. He lowered himself into the other chair, studying Remus' face, which had a curious, closed expression. Severus had expected to see the other man display agony on his features, or perhaps to cry, but Remus' face remained blank, which was almost more frightening.

"I suppose I knew that," he said, turning back towards the window. The view he had longed for was displayed fully to him now, a reward for his service, as Lucius Malfoy had euphemistically called the act of killing. He could see down to the sweeping lawn with its lush hedges, and the black iron gate and fencing on the very edge of the property, which kept away the unsuspecting and dangerous, but the grounds did not interest him very much any more. No desire to run free beat within him. He found himself drawn to the sun, which was swollen red with death like the moon in late October sometimes was, heavy and slow on the horizon. It was the colour of blood. "There was so much blood. I felt her heartbeat slow. She stopped fighting me, after a while."

Severus shook his head, deflecting the comments. "Lupin," he barked, harsher. "Your leg. Has the potion helped at all? I've applied dittany, but it could do with a bit more."

Ignoring this, Remus frowned into the blazing ruby sky. "Do you think she knew it was me? In my place, do you think she would have chosen to kill me?"

"This melancholia must stop!" demanded Severus abruptly, his voice rising. Remus' head jerked towards him again, his eyes wide with surprise at the tone. "You cannot continue mourning over a dead woman, especially one you scarcely knew. Nothing you do can help her now. We can't very well bring her back, so do pull yourself together, Lupin, and stop this infernal whining." A bit surprised with himself, he nodded, as if to confirm he had meant what he had said. "Sybill Trelawney is dead. You are still alive. You must pull yourself out of this grief and think of your own survival. Now, you had a deep cut on your leg, no doubt a self-inflicted bite. I tried various potions, but werewolf bites are notoriously difficult to heal. Has there been any improvement?"

Startled, Remus gestured vaguely towards his trousers. "It hurts somewhat, not intolerably."

"I brought some dittany for you, there," Severus answered, somewhat calmed. He pointed to the phials on the table. "You can apply it yourself, directly on the injury. The red potion is for pain, the blue for sleep. Take them as necessary. I trust you remember enough from your O.W.L. class with Professor Slughorn to manage that?"

Remus nodded.

"Good."

"What about Ginny?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Ginny?"

"She's -- she's still alive, isn't she?" Remus went rigid again, staring with forceful concentration at the window. The sky was growing darker, and the first stars were visible, flaring cold white points of light an impossible distance away. "They didn't kill her, did they?"

Remembering Lucius' threat, Severus shook his head. "She's fine."

"Where is she?"

"Below," he answered vaguely, grimacing. The girl had been in a right state when he had gone down to the cells to check on her. At first, he had thought she was not even there, but then he had finally spotted her, curled up near the corner of the room between the bench and the wall, having knocked the bucket aside. It had been clear she had wanted to hide, and feared being dragged away by Bellatrix or one of the other Death Eaters.

Once he had finally coaxed her out, Severus had told Ginny about Remus; what had been done to him, what he had done. He had guessed one of the crueller of their number, perhaps Bellatrix, would taunt Ginny with the truth of what Remus had been forced into, and he wanted her prepared, though of course, in describing the incident, he had not mentioned that Ginny's own life had been part of the bargain. She had cried so loud that he had nearly been forced to shout, assuring the girl that Remus was being taken care of, but even though she had finally fallen silent, Severus doubted whether she had heard his reassurances. Even if she had understood him, Severus did not supposed she had believed him, because she had crawled back over to the corner, shaking and afraid, tears still streaming down her face.

"My son?"

"He is not being kept here any longer. Greyback has taken him, to the werewolf quarters; Narcissa has insisted that his lot be kept out of the mansion after an attack on the grounds last full moon. She fears for her son, when he arrives home at last. Don't worry," Severus added, trying to disguise his bitterness. "I'm sure he is safe."

"Are you?" Remus did not wait for an answer before continuing. "I was told I could see him. It's the full moon day after tomorrow, isn't it? Lucius Malfoy said I could have Teddy with me, so I could be there to help him during his first transformation."

Severus sighed. "Lucius has permitted Greyback to keep him, for the time being."

"But I did what they wanted," said Remus, showing a little life. In the new fallen darkness, his eyes were reflective, like a cat's. "I killed her, as they required."

"Not without prompting, and threats," answered Severus. "They don't trust you. They fear you will try to escape once you have the boy, or that you might kill him, to ensure he does not become a follower of Voldemort," Severus said. "I know," he added, as Remus looked outraged. "I told them you would do no such thing, but they are unconvinced. They want more proof of loyalty."

Remus wrapped his arms around himself. "I won't kill again. Not for them, not for anyone."

"And if they threaten you with the girl's life?"

Shaking his head, Remus covered his face. "They can't. I can't do it! Not even for her...and once I say yes, they'll never stop, will they? Every new task, every new terrible deed, they will threaten Ginny's life until I consent. She will never be safe and I'll never be free, isn't that so? No," he went on, more forcefully. "I won't kill. I don't want to be responsible for another death, ever again, even if it means saving someone I -- I love." The words seemed to startle him, and he touched his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, remembering kisses. It had not been so long ago, but it felt like several lifetimes since he had held her.

Awed at this revelation, Severus nonetheless attempted a look of pure calm. "You may not have a choice," he said, very softly. It was not his silky, malicious voice in which he spoke, but a richer tone, almost warm, as though he felt some kind of emotion which, in fact, he did. "They have forbidden me to give you the Wolfsbane during the moonrise. You will transform, tomorrow night, and they have plans." He winced at Remus' expression, and silently began applying the dittany to Remus' wound himself, wishing he could communicate his consolation through touch as the werewolf covered his face in apprehension at the information.


	9. Bord de Nuit

**_Bord de Nuit_**

_..._

"_What if a demon were to creep after you one night, in your loneliest loneliness, and say, 'This life which you live must be lived by you once again and innumerable times more; and every pain and joy and thought and sigh must come again to you, all in the same sequence. The eternal hourglass will again and again be turned and you with it, dust of the dust!' Would you throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse that demon? Or would you answer, 'Never have I heard anything more divine'?" _- Friedrich Nietzsche

"_Maybe this world is another planet's Hell_." - Aldous Huxley

...

**Author's Note: This is the darkest chapter to date. It contains somewhat graphic non-con of the SSxGW stripe, among other things, and is probably going to be quite offensive to some people. If you are offended by or uncomfortable with non-con (rape) in a fictional story, do not read this chapter, please. **In less shocking news, it's also the longest chapter, but hopefully everybody is okay with that. :) Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing. I appreciate it so much!

...

"He can't -- the coward --" Bellatrix Lestrange was spitting as Severus strode into the room with marble floors. It was dark save for the flare of lit torches in the corners, but he thought he could read the fury on the woman's face nonetheless as she turned to face him, turning away from Goyle. "You were already given the wolf, Snape! The girl should be mine!"

Hands itching for his wand, he forced himself to keep his arms at his side as he arranged his features into a blank, cool expression. "Lupin? Hardly. He was kept alive to serve our Master, a decision to which I trust you do not object. Werewolves are valuable predators, and having this one alive will not only increase our power by deplete the morale of the opposition. Lupin used to be a member of the Order, do not forget. His friends will succumb to depression once word of his actions reaches them."

Bellatrix was not calmed by this logic. "He was kept alive for you - by you. I don't pretend to know why," she added, though she studied him darkly, as if sure she would read an answer there. Her suspicion was palpable. "You favour him?"

"Certainly not!" The shock was not feigned, as Severus had spent many years stewing in agony, both hateful and contemptuous of Black, Potter, Pettigrew and the werewolf, Lupin. Dignified again, he shook his head, his black eyes boring into Bellatrix' skull. "I hated him, as I hated all of them, the bloody Gryffindors. Aloof, above it all, beyond the bounds of rules," he mused angrily, lost in private hurt, "if it was I he was kept alive for, it's only so I may have the pleasure of torturing him, should he not comply with the Dark Lord's wishes."

Unconvinced, Bellatrix snorted. "Either way, the girl should go to me. What do you want her for?"

"You know why," he said softly, his voice like rustling silk and burdened with audible dislike.

"Oh yes, she is a pretty thing, isn't she? Virgin and white -- but I know why you really want her." Bellatrix waited until Severus had fixed his eyes upon her, and grinned. "All that red, red hair. She reminds you of that hateful Muggle bitch, doesn't she? What was her name?" she continued, as Severus stared at her, trying vainly to disguise his pain. "Oh yes, Lily...Lily Potter. The Mudblood you begged the Dark Lord to spare."

Curling his fists behind his back, Severus shook his head convulsively. "That - Lily," he began, wincing. "She meant nothing to me."

Bellatrix' expression was a shade too knowing. "Sure."

"It is true. As I have told you countless times, with the Dark Lord's aid, I have seen the error of my ways. I was a young boy, taken with beauty, blind to the taint of her blood. That has changed, now. I do not regret her death."

"Lies," Bellatrix snapped. "If it was beauty you craved, why didn't you ask our Master for the Delacour woman? What do you want with the wee child, then, _Sev-er-us_, you traitor," she continued, mocking him through her anger.

His head rose, eyes shadowed. "She was impudent to me in class --"

"Oh!" Bellatrix shrieked with delight, watching Severus' mouth twitch. "Impudent, to you?"

" -- more than once required me to admonish her verbally, to confiscate her belongings, though I wished to punish her by far more severe means, as you can well guess --"

Bellatrix licked her lips, cocking her head and studying Severus as if seeing him in a new light. "I can imagine," she said, her features softening. "Yes, she does sound a terror, no doubt in need of your...hand...to guide her." Through glazed eyes, she watched as he paled slightly, enjoying the sensation of seeing Severus distraught.

"Indeed," he answered crisply, covering up his revulsion well. "Numerous detentions were required, once she became a bit older. She developed quite the smart mouth as well --"

" -- the tart!"

" -- which I have naturally longed to retrain these several years. Unfortunately, however, with Dumbledore constantly observant, above in his study, I dared not apply the sort of discipline the girl really required. It was necessary to remain discreet, of course, lest I rouse the ire of the school governors. More than once, I had to punish her with rather less _corporal_ disciplines than I would have preferred. Now, however," Severus went on, watching Bellatrix with slight alarm, as she seemed on the verge of swooning. "I again have an opportunity to teach the girl a lesson, without fear of reprisals. It is my plan to introduce her, as soon as can be managed, to my methods, and then have her embark upon an extended session of training, somewhere quiet and distant, where no one can hear the screaming and come calling out of fear or greed."

At that moment, a number of Death Eaters entered the room, each of them dressed in the full regalia of dark hoods and cloaks and shining silver masks which hid their faces from view. There was some mumbling excitement from them, and the murmurs increased in volume as a few of them noticed Severus and Bellatrix standing together, as if preparing for the fight. That was what they had come to see, and all of Voldemort's followers were anxious for it.

Bellatrix Lestrange always got her own way, and it was rare for her to turn down an opportunity to do some damage, but she nodded easily to Severus. "Very well, I consent," she said, in a low voice inaudible to the rest of the room. "You take the girl, but the next capture belongs to me, Snape." Turning, she sneered at one of the Death Eaters, Avery, who had recently unmasked.

"You're late. The duel is finished. Severus won."

The Death Eater was flabbergasted. "You're both standing," he pointed out, more than a little disappointed and confused. "Continue."

"As Bellatrix so kindly told you," said Severus, with a slight smile in the woman's direction, " we have completed our duel, with the outcome in my favour. We had both decided the fate of a lowly, underage blood traitor is hardly worth the spilling of pure blood from either the Black or Prince families, and settled on a different sort of match. I've won; now, I wonder, where is the girl, or has no one thought to deliver my prize?"

As he spoke, he watched both of his luckless prisoners dragged into the room. Remus Lupin was in chains, and dragged by two Death Eaters who had their wands out and pointed at his throat, as if fearing an attack. He put up no fight, though his heart thudded in apprehension, knowing what was to come, though not why he had been brought to witness it. Coming in an entrance opposite was Ginny. She had not been bound but walked free, her arm in the grip of a harried looking Death Eater without a mask. Obedient and terrified, she put up no fight until she saw Remus; after spotting him, she tried to run to his side, but was stopped and roughly pushed onto the ground, whereupon she started to cry.

"You should have duelled in public," groused one Death Eater. "That's the rule. It should have been done up here, fairly, and --"

"My apologies for your spoilt fun," Severus snapped vigorously, silencing him. His temper boiled beneath the thin exterior of calm. "The deal is done. I have rights to the girl, and I see you have also brought me Lupin," Severus continued, spitting the name with a virulence that make Remus shake to hear it, especially given the fair, almost caring treatment Severus had administered hours ago. "Excellent revenge indeed. He and his friends -- the blood traitors Black and Potter -- they used to make a sport out of tormenting me. Well, now it's my chance to offer him a spot of pain, and see how he enjoys the humiliation." There was no indication from his tone that Severus was anything less than serious, and Remus found himself shivering.

"His service for the Dark Lord," spoke Narcissa. Coming from behind her mask, her voice was muffled and hollow. "Has that not earned him the right to avoid more pain?"

Standing near his wife, with his face brazenly on display, Lucius Malfoy uttered a low laugh. "Sympathy, my dear, for a werewolf? Do not show such weakness in the Dark Lord's company. It is true, he did his duty, on pain of death. Perhaps this lesson will teach him the need to cooperate immediately next time."

"Bring them over," ordered another voice. Remus was not sure whether it was the cruel satisfaction in the voice or the fact that their time had come which made him tremble with a sudden chill, but tremble he did, and when he made himself look over to Ginny, he saw she too was shaking with fright, her eyes staring out as if seeing something faraway. It would be better, he knew, for her to remain on the fringes of consciousness; what Severus was going to do would be traumatic beyond what Remus thought Ginny was capable of withstanding fully alert.

Gruff hands grasped the small chain that joined Remus' cuffed wrists, and he was hauled to his feet before he was ready, his shoulders wrenched out of joint by the abrupt pull. Heart beating frantically in his chest, he opened his mouth, wishing there was a way to call off their terrible bargain, especially as he locked eyes with Ginny. She looked terrified, having been forced wide awake by the sharp prodding of a perturbed Death Eater, who giggled as Ginny struggled to stand. Standing there in the gloom, her dirty skirt displaying knees which had finally mended, she looked younger than sixteen, and utterly horrified. Remus had a few seconds to remember their last few moments together, and her hot kisses, before the two of them were dragged into the centre of large, circular room to the place where Severus stood, in the circle of eager Death Eaters.

"My sweet," croaked Fenrir Greyback, leaning forward to stroke Ginny's hair as she was led past. His fingers coiled around a lock of it, and he breathed in her scent, looking lustfully at her. Ginny jerked her head away, and was rewarded with a scowl from the werewolf, who bared his teeth, plainly communicating dominance.

"Let's have a look at her," suggested Lucius Malfoy. He was without mask or hood, and his blonde hair gleamed. "Ah yes," he spoke, as he studied Ginny. His eyes travelled up her legs, seeking a view of the undiscovered territory above the hem of her skirt.

All of a sudden, Severus' backhand caught Remus firmly against the jaw and tore his attention away from the worrisome scene of Lucius and Ginny. The flare of warm happiness he had known with Ginny was a dream, and reality had constricted onto the cold marble room. Above him, Severus glowered. Remus turned to look at him, widening his eyes in surprise. He had known that Severus had disliked him when they had been boys, but he had thought the man felt some sympathy for him. Yet, Severus' face was a mask of anger, his onyx eyes glittering with deep hatred. It was like boyhood all over again, Remus mused as he dropped his gaze to the floor; the same rivalry and animosity which no one seemed capable of explaining or undoing.

"Look at me, werewolf!"

Obediently, Remus did, although his ears pricked back at the thin, shrill sound of Ginny's cry. Drawn by her fearful whimper, he glanced over his shoulder just for a second, to ensure that she was all right, but Severus hit him again, hard enough to make tiny lights dance before his eyes. He thought of the man who had daubed his wounds with dittany, who had applied bandages gingerly, and could not reconcile him with this Severus, who spat and glared at him from above.

"I said, look at me!"

Once Remus had met his gaze, Severus laughed harshly. "Lupin," he spoke, almost seductively. "Moony." The way he said the once-endearing pet name, used only by Remus' closest friends, made it sound like something vile. "You and your filthy friends used to think you were quite something, didn't you? You used to think you were better than Severus Snape, isn't that right?" His leer was mad as he bent closer, forcing his face just centimetres from Remus'. His voice was a ragged, hateful whisper. "It wasn't enough for you to torment me, either; you had to shame me, and in the end, you weren't satisfied until you'd taken away the only person I'd ever loved, the only thing that mattered." Despite his ferocity, Severus' face looked terribly young and insecure as he raged. "You never let her be. She used to tell me about the things you said, the jokes you made -- well, now you can have a taste of what that felt like." Without warning, he raised his wand, and the Cruciatus curse struck Remus like a punch in the gut, knocking him over under the crushing weight of a wave of pain worse than anything he had ever known.

Writhing, kicking and yelling, only vaguely aware of Ginny's horrified screams as she called his name, Remus felt his body break anew. It was if all of Severus' pent up rage against James and Sirius had been applied to him. The pain was unendurable. Remus heard the astounding, heavy silence as even screaming failed him; he was on fire, and frozen to death, twisted and stretched, cursed and re-cursed. His arms flailed and his legs kicked a useless tattoo against the stone floor, while his mind raced, too pain-stricken to think coherently. Pictures of misdeeds flashed before his eyes as Remus' unconscious mind tried to justify his punishment, but he had no words for what he endured, and when it stopped, he had no way of explaining how great the relief was.

Free of the Cruciatus, Remus lay determinedly still. He had heard the crack of bones, though he was not sure from which part of his body they had come. Blood had pooled beside him, a puddle filled with the rivulets that poured from his mouth and nose and the side of his head, which he had cut on one of the stones. His lungs felt burnt by the intake of raw air, but he gasped in greedy mouthfuls nonetheless, desperate for oxygen.

"Watch him," Severus demanded, glaring pointedly at Yaxley, who nodded. Not daring to risk a look back at Remus -- fearing both the retribution if his sympathy was noticed and the guilt that Remus' pitiful sight would no doubt arose within him -- he marched firmly onward, dragging his second captive to her feet.

"The blood traitor girl, isn't she?" queried Lucius Malfoy dismissively as Severus grabbed Ginny's wrist and began hauling her forward, towards the podium near which Remus still lay, trembling as his body assessed the damage. "Rather more attractive than I expected any daughter of Arthur's to be, now that she's grown up a bit."

"You take an interest?" asked Severus, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He noticed the flecks of Remus' blood there on his robes and hastily looked away.

Lucius cocked his head, his eyes roving Ginny's body. "Perhaps."

Frozen with fear, Ginny leaned against Severus, almost as if she expected protection. A number of Death Eaters noticed, and laughed, and Severus clenched his hands tighter around her arms in a futile attempt to both calm her and send a message of dominance to the rest.

"I'm first," Severus said, disgusted with the sudden thrill low in his belly that accompanied the words. He wanted to release Ginny as though burned by her skin, but he dared not show any weakness. "I've wanted this one for some time."

"I'm content to take her second, if you'll allow," spoke Lucius, as calmly as if the two men were conferring on business deal. He sighed, glancing over towards the fallen form of Remus Lupin. "If only you had not been so rough with that one, we might have had the pleasure of them both. I too have a grudge with Lupin; he married my wife's niece, much to the shame and disgrace of our family. How he could stand to touch a dirty half-blood I'll never understand, but I suppose once one's undergone that sort of feral existence, anyone will do." He smirked down at Ginny, and touched her hair carelessly. "He fancied this one as well, didn't he?"

As if she had finally woken up from her trace, Ginny started. Jerking back, she almost managed to pull out of Severus' surprised grasp, but his arm encircled her waist before she could get away, pinning her against him.

Lucius looked amused. "Feisty."

Nodding, showing appropriate enthusiasm, Severus smiled back darkly. "Just the way I like it. I despise when they lay still; it's like fucking the dead."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Lucius piped up hastily, with a grim smirk at Greyback, who was known for the practise. "Watch it," he added quickly, as Ginny reared up, attempting to scratch him. He raised his wand, but was stopped like Severus, who quelled him with a look.

"No, don't mar her," Severus said, stroking Ginny's face. She tensed against his body and he felt it again, that dirty little shiver of want. Pulling her a bit closer, he let his fingers stroke a languid path down her side, snickering subtly at Lucius' expression of desire. "And don't stun her. I like it when they fight."

There was no way he could warn her; it wouldn't help, and he would have to deal with the horrified look in her eyes anyway, so Severus simply took hold of the girl's skirt and tore it, ripping it away from Ginny's body in one fluid motion. She shrieked in confusion, her hands flapping as she tried to cover her partial nudity. Standing there in her thin shirt and knickers, her long red hair in her face, she looked hopelessly lost, but also achingly familiar. _Like Lily_, Severus thought unwillingly, touching her hair again. The thought made him tremble with restrained lust, and he felt his arousal growing as Ginny flinched back from his hands.

Rudely, Severus shoved her forward so that she fell to the floor. She caught herself with her hands before her face hit the stones, but she had no time to rise up again, for Severus had motioned Lucius forward to hold her down as he himself undid his trousers.

"Don't get up," Lucius warned, planting a boot against the small of Ginny's back. He grinned, bending down to touch her body, his hands sliding warningly up the backs of her thighs, but withdrew quickly as Severus closed in on her.

Twisting onto her back, Ginny held up her hands against him. "Pro -- Professor!" she tried, blinking her eyes in confusion, not at all certain how she had ended up in the desperate situation in which she had found herself. Lucius' mocking laughter rang in her ears, but she tried to ignore it, thinking of ways in which she could reach her former Potions master and make him see sense. Briefly, she wondered if he had been Confounded. "It's me -- it's Ginny Weasley!"

Bracing himself, Severus cast her a careless glance, raising one eyebrow in a mute response.

"Professor?" Ginny said again, and Severus felt himself stirring, his erection growing harder at the plaintive sound of her voice. He disgusted himself, but oh, she sounded sweet, grovelling there on the floor before him. He fought an urge to scoop her up and dust her off, hoping there would be time for sympathy later and praying he did not inflict so much damage that she could not recover. Still, the guilt was an extraordinary thing, especially as he attempted to reconcile his lust and shame with the fact that she so greatly resembled Lily.

"Professor, please! Professor Snape! Severus! Please, don't -- please!"

Her last hopeful word had not quite died on her lips when Severus bent down, tore off her knickers and forced her legs apart. The sight of her body made him ache with wanting. Crouching there between her thighs, he refused to think about right or wrong or the fact that his former student remained stubbornly trustful in him. There was no going back; he could slake his lust and make a good show of it, which might save her life, or he could be noble and decent, and let her be carted off by someone worse. Knowing there was no other choice, he wrenched her thighs a bit further apart and closed his eyes, thrusting into her body up to the hilt.

Ginny's screaming was everything. He could hear it, echoing deafeningly in his eardrums, ringing off the walls. He could _feel_ it, vibrating through her body into his. The breath seemed to freeze in Severus' lungs as Ginny screamed hers out, but his thrusts did not still, and his rhythm picked up speed when he made out exactly _what_ she was screaming: it was his name, uttered in one long, stunned cry that resounded throughout the room, making the Death Eaters startle and stare.

She raged against him, begging for help even as she tried to pummel him with her fists; he pinned her wrists easily, but she still struggled. Needing to force his dominance, Severus grabbed a fistful of her hair and tipped her head back, exposing her throat. He nuzzled against her neck just for a moment, then bit the flesh there, quivering as he heard her cry out. Lupin too was yelling, he noticed, but for the moment, he ignored it.

The heat of her body was unbearably good, but Severus was not sure why he found himself on the verge of orgasm much quicker than he normally might have done. Perhaps it was the way Ginny continued to fight, attempting to buck her hips to push him off of her, which inadvertently let him go deeper. Probably, it was the sound of her ragged breath and the sight of red-hair glimpsed through Severus' blurry, half-closed eyes. Either way, and to silence her screaming, he leaned forward mid-thrust and kissed her, pressing his lips against her own and forcing her to yield to the pressure of his tongue. Her mouth was warm, and she was too stunned to fight him much. Releasing her tender wrists, which he was sure he had bruised badly, Severus held her hands down instead, intertwining his fingers with hers; a gesture offered in apology even as he took his pleasure. Kissing her made it a little easier - she stopped shouting anyway - and before long he was moaning into her mouth, trembling with the release even as he felt scoured and destroyed by his own guilt at what he'd done to her.

The guilt got a lot worse as he rose, towelled off, closed his trousers, and finally dared look at her. All of the fight had gone out of Ginny. She simply lay there, as she had after she had received the terrible news of her family's fate, her eyes hazy and faraway. Her red hair flowed gracefully across the stone where he had taken her, and her limbs were just a languid. Severus paled, taking note of the harsh purple and black bruises that encircled her wrists and marred her thighs. What truly upset him though was the thin trickle blood which flowed freely down her legs, and he forced himself to concentrate on doing up the buttons on his robes so he wouldn't have to see.

"It's late," he announced to Lucius and Avery once he had managed to catch his breath. "I'm ready to retire, with the girl." Cordially, he turned to Lucius. "Once you've finished with her, of course."

Lucius shrugged, regarding Ginny with waning interest. "Not yet, Severus. I think you broke her." He smiled. "Perhaps in a few days, once she has healed enough to regain some spirit."

"My honour," he agreed, relieved. Snapping his fingers, he ordered Ginny bound, although he rather doubted he would have much trouble with her now. With a heavy sigh, he crossed the room to where Remus sat, crouched at the foot of one of the Death Eaters, who had been holding a wand to his temple. The werewolf was awake and fully cognizant -- Severus' stomach twisted nervously -- and his golden eyes were full of malice and contempt as he glittered at Severus. "Werewolf," Severus commanded, nodding to the Death Eater to release him. "I will bring you to your quarters. If you so much as growl at me," he warned, "I'll make you wish you were both dead."

"That's the spirit," crowed Yaxley, as Severus moved out of the room with Ginny and Remus in tow.


	10. La Lune

Author's Note: Another fairly long chapter. My apologies if it seems a bit slow, or anti-climatic after the last one. Step carefully and be wary of the blood. It is a rather bloody piece, in parts.

...

_**La Lune**_

"_The moon is at her full, and, riding high,_

_Floods the calm fields with light._

_The airs that hover in the summer sky_

_Are all asleep to-night_." - William Cullen Bryant

He had been pacing his room for the past ten hours, watching with increasing horror as the sun transitioned. It had risen a bronze disk nestled within fluffy pink clouds at dawn, then turned into bright yellow flare high in its arc at noonday, only to sink slowly. Now, the sun was a fallen chariot looming ever nearer the horizon. Already, Remus could see the fragile outline of the moon, a ghostly sphere of translucent white perched high in the pale blue sky. As much as he wanted to tear his gaze from the window which framed the terrifying sight, he was drawn to the moon, enchanted by the subtle ivory glow from above, enamoured of the frightening smoothness of its curves. It seemed, he mused, they meant not to give him the Wolfsbane potion after all, despite his hopes and the fervent prayers he had whispered under his breath intermittently, along-side curses. The moon was on the rise, and his blood circulated impatient fire as the wolf fought for freedom.

Sparing a thought for Ginny, Remus glared at the bedroom door, as though if he stared hard enough at it, he might be able to burn a hole through and escape. Just across the hall were Severus' quarters, larger and more lavish than his own, though Remus knew Severus ached to leave the manor himself and return to the privacy of his own modest home. Ginny would be there too, trapped inside. Remus dared not dwell too deeply on what she might be experiencing - Severus had cast the muffliato, but Remus was not certain whether that was to keep his kindness hidden from the Death Eaters, or to disguise Ginny's screams from _him_. After the violent episode the other day, Remus had his doubts about Severus' trustworthiness.

Closing his eyes, Remus let himself relive the awful moment the two of them - he and Ginny - had been wrenched apart. It had been right outside his door, in the hallway, where Severus had paused and, giving Remus a stern look, ordered him into his room without complaint. Naturally, Remus had not complied. He had shouted at the top of his voice, called Severus all manner of offensive names, some of which he had never uttered aloud before, all of which he had learned primarily from Sirius when they had been young men. Caught up in the tempest of anger, Remus had rained down insults and slander, though the main weapon - the one that made Severus flinch and shout and finally hit him across the mouth - was Remus' opinion that Severus had enjoyed what he had done to Ginny.

Livid, Severus had knocked Remus to the ground. Excuses silenced, he had begun bellowing at Remus, accusing him of ancient wrongs, including the time Remus had failed to stop James Potter from tormenting him, Severus, during a third year Herbology session which had nearly resulted in Severus' strangulation and James' expulsion. If anything, Severus' visible embarrassment and his loss of control had proven Remus' point, but the two men had not continued hashing it out there. Severus had finally shoved Remus into the room and locked the door by magic from without.

That had been their last encounter. Severus had left Remus to heal from his Cruciatus-inflicted injuries independently; luckily, Remus' body had risen to the challenge, leaving him still slightly achy but mostly mended. Remus, deprived of news, had deflated like a punctured balloon, his energy abating without some target to direct his fury towards, though in recent hours he had felt a low-level electric current running through him as adrenaline entered his bloodstream again. In his heart of hearts, he knew Ginny was probably safe. Severus, for his faults, was a powerful ally. Hoping for the best, Remus again directed his worries towards the waxing moon.

Beyond the window, the grounds were a sun-dappled mix of light and shadow, though, to Remus' increasing concern, the shadows were growing longer as the sun slowly sank. The groomed hedges rustled in the breeze, which whipped ever-stronger as if it too was preparing for nightfall.

"Remus," spoke Severus, and Remus spun around, utterly shocked. He had been concentrating so hard on the impending night that he had failed to hear the door open behind him.

Severus looked pale, and his eyes were bloodshot, but his gaze was expressionless as he peered into Remus' face, reading the shock and anger there. "They've sent for you. I'm to take you out of the mansion - they have work for us both."

"Where's Ginny?" Remus demanded, crossing the room so quickly that Severus jumped back; Remus noted the reaction with some hidden satisfaction. "I want to see her."

"In my home, in Spinner's End. We received permission to relocate there just a few hours ago."

This was news to Remus. "She's not in the manor?"

"Not anymore."

"What is she doing?" Glowering, he rephrased the question. "What are _you_ doing _to_ her?"

Checking over his shoulder for eavesdroppers, Severus met the other man's eyes, trying to convey the sincerity he knew would put Remus at ease. Lupin wanted to believe him, that much was obvious. He cared for Ginny, as Severus had known he did, and wanted assurances of her safety; in a reverse situation, Severus realised, he would want the same. Having the girl around him had been awkward at first, but he was growing accustomed to her company already, although they seldom exchanged words. Long conversations were still uncomfortable, what with each of them pointed staring off into space and selecting the most impersonal of topics. At least she did not run from him, or dart away when he entered a room, as she had when they had first entered his quarters within the manor and she had found herself alone with him.

"I'm teaching her how to survive," Severus answered honestly. "I won't pretend it is not difficult; she does not have a thorough magical education in the elements that matter to us now, much less the advanced standing I would prefer, but she has enough background to master the spells, and her grasp of wandless magic has been quick to the point of breathtaking."

Sinking onto the bed, Remus rubbed his forehead, puzzled. "You're -- you're teaching her magic? You?"

Severus nodded. "I am." His pride ruffled, he stood a little straighter, his chin in the air. _What does Lupin think? _he wondered. _That I survived my years as a Hogwarts Potions Master on sheer luck alone?_

"Why?"

"Why do you think? I am an important asset to the Dark Lord and skilled in combat, but I am not invincible, nor I am not above the suspicion of the others here. A handful already resent me to the point where they would willingly believe any incriminating information that might surface. Should I not be able to protect Ginevra, I at least want her to have a fighting chance." He met Remus' eyes, noting the surprise. "What, you expected I just wanted the opportunity to get into her knickers again?"

Remus did not flinch, despite the shock of hearing Severus speak Ginny's given name. "I won't say the notion hasn't crossed my mind."

Nodding, Severus met the other man's stare. "Permit me to express my total lack of shock at your suspicions, Lupin. I well remember what you said to me." His black eyes seemed to turn a shade darker. "You referred to me as - what was it again? Oh yes, 'a filthy pervert too heinous for Azkaban'. I found your comment about paedophilia unwarranted; the girl is practically of age, and it is rather like the pot calling the kettle black, if half of what she's told me about the two of you is true." He enjoyed watching the colour drain from Remus' face before continuing.

"You accused me of orchestrating the whole thing for selfish reasons. You told me I'd wanted it all along. Well, I won't deny you, there. I did want her, when it came right down to it." He felt the revulsion in his stomach, but carried on, unwilling to look weak as he stood before Remus' judging eyes. "I won't pretend to be an innocent, Lupin, nor saintly or pure like your dead Gryffindor friends. Certain aspects of the darkness have always attracted me, and I was drawn from youth towards opportunities to maintain dominance over others. My motives have changed, my alliances as well, but some part of who I was continues to linger with me and perhaps always will." He uttered a humourless chuckle. "You, a dark creature, didn't you recognise one of your own?"

Taken aback by the frankness of Severus' monologue, Remus studied the other man warily. He wanted to be able to trust Severus and put the doubts to rest, particularly before the night blackened and the full moon hit. "But, you're helping her now? As you promised?"

"I am. She is being trained in defensive magic far more serious than what she learned in her O.W.L. studies, and more than that, she is learning dark magic; fight fire with fire, the Muggles say, and in this case I agree. I am teaching her more subtle arts as well, and I must say, after Potter it is a pleasure to have a student who takes an interest in the subject. Legilimency and Occlumency, Lupin, so do close your mouth before you swallow a fly," he snapped as the werewolf gaped. "She needs to know how to explore the thoughts of those around her, to instinctively select how to approach them and behave in their company. Occlumency, of course, will protect her from accidentally divulging potentially dangerous information."

"I see," spoke Remus gently. He glanced up, his eyes shining. "When can I see her?"

Severus frowned. "Not until it's safe. Not until they trust you, in other words. Then, they will allow you to leave the grounds, as Greyback and his followers do, and make your home elsewhere, provided you return when summoned." He chose not to go into detail. "I can generously allow you to be accommodated at Spinner's End, if you wish. Noting your poverty, and your poor opportunities to earn honest galleons, they will think nothing of you staying in my home."

Risking a glance at the sky again, Remus shuddered. The moon was more visible now, standing out in bleak white contrast from the darker navy streaks of clouds in the salmon-coloured sky. It would not be long now, before full darkness fell, and the transformation came, transfiguring him neatly from human to wolf, or somewhere in between the two: a feral, cunning thing foaming at the mouth, searching for blood, but capable of enough human thought to revel in the essential wrongness of what he was.

"Have you brought the potion?" Remus asked, forcing his voice to remain calm. A hopeful note was pathetically evident in his tone, but he kept a blank face, fearing the negative answer.

Severus regarded him through a dark fall of midnight-black hair. "You know I haven't. They've forbidden it. You're a werewolf, and they will expect you to act like it, tonight of all nights."

"I won't cooperate."

"You'll have no choice, as you well know. As a wizard, you can resist, perhaps - of course, a simple Imperio would force the issue even if none of the usual threats worked - but as a werewolf, you will be ideally suited to the cause. A campaign of terror, if you wish to know," Severus explained. "Fenrir, I believe you are already aware, stations himself near victims, in order to be within range during the turn of the moon. He is already in Hogsmeade, with several from his den in attendance." Severus sighed. "Blood on the moon," he added, glancing out the window, to where the moon waited for the final dying of the day's sunlight. "We should hurry."

Remus' legs had mysteriously turned to jelly, and there was little he could do about that, seeing as he was shaking incredibly. "No!"

"See sense, Remus," Severus said, using Remus' given name for the second time that night. He was not certain why it felt a little less awkward on his tongue, and was spoken with a touch less severity than the werewolf's surname. "You are moments from transformation. There's nothing more we can do -- damn it!" he suddenly stammered.

In front of him, Remus Lupin went curiously rigid as if struck by sudden onset paralysis. His spine curved back slightly, his legs froze in a crouch, his hands, with which he had been gesturing, hovered slightly away from him as if he were holding them out to stop an attack on his person. Severus found himself unable to look away from the sight of those golden eyes even as the pupils elongated and the irises were suffused with the colour of the harvest moon, a rich Hallowe'en orange. Before Severus' eyes, the human soul so evident shining in Remus' eyes vanished behind a wall of pure emotionless sheen; Remus' eyes had become hunting equipment, an unnatural endowment that would serve him well in the tangle of a forest or on a deserted, wind-struck moor.

"Shit!" Severus stated quite clearly. James Potter had saved him from Sirius Black's prank, earning, in place of everlasting gratitude, Severus' humiliated fury, but for the first time, Severus realised _exactly_ what he would have been up against had he made it all the way to the Shrieking Shack and become trapped in a room with the werewolf. For werewolf Remus was, and no trace of the docile, shabby, tea-and-chocolates-laden Professor that Severus had so disliked as a child remained on that face now. Lupin's teeth were extending, the blunt molars and bicuspids giving way to razor-edged canines. Groans of pain gave way to the yelping and keening of an injured pup, and a deep growl issued from the throat as Remus' mouth gave way to fur-tinged muzzle.

Severus was halfway to the door when he realised he could not leave the creature in the room. It was sure to destroy everything, perhaps escape, and any number of Death Eaters would be savaged. On a personal level, Severus hardly cared, but he knew he would pay dearly for allowing it to happen, so without pausing to consider the consequences of taking a raging werewolf through time and space, he grabbed Remus' hand and Disapparated.

...

A thousand scents blazed a trail to the lowlands, as clear a guide for the wolf as the visible path which stretched before it, edged in trampled grass and snapped branches. If blinded, he would be able to track and hunt on the strength of that sense alone, though all of his senses were acute. Rabbits hid in the raspberry brambles a half-mile away; he could smell their dusty fur and the residue of stolen vegetation that clung to their mouths, and he could hear the thudding of their tiny hearts, but the rabbits were safe, at least from him. The wolf was more interested in the fat, sticky droplets of human blood which had spilt onto the leaves and grass before him, which signalled wounded prey. The injured creature was large and ungainly; for a human, he moved with grace, but for an animal, his journey was cumbersome and awkward at best, and he made more noise than he knew throwing himself across the lowlands. The werewolf was unique among its kind as one who knew such creatures intimately, yet neither feared nor underestimated them. He was slightly wary of the stick carried by wizards, having a dim understanding of its potential as a weapon, but fully transformed, the wolf who had only an hour previous been Remus Lupin, was confident enough in his hunting skills to take the chance.

He set off at a slow, loping pace, easily finding the splotches of blood left like breadcrumbs marking his path to Severus. The blood was still tacky, not quite congealed, and the freshness of it kept him interested. Dead animals could be eaten if no other options presented themselves, but it was not the preference of the werewolf, particularly as Lupin had been reasonably well fed. He was not hungry, merely in search of the sport.

A half-mile north of the werewolf, Severus Snape clutched his wounded left arm to his body, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood from the deep gash. He had never studied Muggle medicine, but he understood the concept of applying pressure to the wound, and did so, crushing some strips torn from his robes over the cut. Cursing, he tried to remember the precise spot where he and Remus - by then already more wolf than man - had Apparated. The attack had been abrupt and vicious, starting the moment he had set foot on the ground. Remus had leapt, knocking him down easily, and Severus had tried to make sense of the smooth paws that rested on his chest, each sporting a claw an inch and a half in length. He had been lucky, he knew, that it had been those claws which had opened up the wound on his arm. If the werewolf had bitten him, the injury would not only have been far worse, but would have had permanent consequences. Even now, Severus shuddered, wondering what it would be liked to be infected with the feared curse.

Distantly, he heard the baying of the wolf, calling out to his mistress, the moon. Severus shuddered again, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck at the eerie call. It was close, too close for comfort, and Severus picked up the pace, meandering toward a flattened spot in the field full of knee-high wild grasses and Queen Anne's lace. His wand, which had been knocked out of his hand by Lupin's leap, had to be there. _Accio wand_, Severus thought. _Accio! Please!_

Wandless magic was his forte, but his concentration was insufficient to achieve a successful outcome. Goosebumps pricked up along his arms as he heard something large moving through the deep grass not too far away. Certain it was the wolf, Severus forced himself to move slowly and attempt to avoid attracting attention. Prey fled. Predators strolled sedate, and so Severus attempted to do the same, taking calm, purposeful steps and not giving in to the urge to run.

The werewolf jumped six feet from the ground, leaping into the air, where its pearly teeth snapped around the leathery black wing of a bat. Amused, it tossed the bat back up into the air, where the stricken creature fluttered off keel, desperately beating the solitary working wing in an attempt to stay airborne. Playing with it for a moment, the wolf let the bat attempt to rise. It was feeble, but determined, and attained a height of eight feet before the wolf crouched and sprung again, catching its body between its teeth. This time it did not let go. Carting the struggling animal in his jaws, Lupin strode through the shady grove of pines, scenting the air for voles or black squirrels. He swallowed the bat, which had ceased its struggling, and cocked an ear in the direction of the wizard. Despite Severus' best efforts, he had not eluded the werewolf, who had decided to carry on his game with prey significantly more challenging than the bat.

Copper-green eyes glittered from the copse of trees not far from Severus, and he instantly froze. His body was dripping in sweat, and the sweat made his wound sting from the salt. He hoped it might be something benign (in his mind, he conjured a delicate doe) but knew such wishes were unlikely to be granted. Steadying himself, forcing himself to concentrate, Severus summoned his wand again. This time, to his surprise, the item rose from the ground and flew to him.

Huge, grey, his white teeth streaked with bat's blood, the werewolf emerged from the wood to sniff the air. Scents of all sorts were carried on the current; the sea, some distance away, interested him with the lure of fish and exotic salt but not as much as human scents and the smell of cooking foods from the village a little over two miles further north. Scanning the plain, the werewolf spied Severus as he caught his wand mid-air and held it out, ready to defend himself if need be. Lupin did not know the man had been ordered to bring him to this precise spot, near a small Scottish village occupied almost exclusively by Muggles. On the edge of town was one former Order member in need of killing. Remus did not know that Severus was going to go to the woman's door - purposing letting blood fall to tempt the werewolf ever nearer, now that he was well protected by his wand - or that Severus would tell the woman a tale of woe and desperation so convincing that she would open her door to him in trust and friendship. One of them, either the man or the wolf, would dispose of her along with as many townspeople - worthless Muggles all - as they could before Severus set the Dark Mark high above the Vance home to boast of more death and warn of the futility of resisting the Dark Lord. All Lupin the wolf cared about was his blood-sport, and on that night, he and the Death Eaters were on the same team.

" -- good hunting up here, lad, I've always said," spoke a man so close to Severus that the wizard startled. Severus' dark cloak had saved him from being spotted. Not one to take chances, Severus performed an invisibility spell the non-verbal way, silently casting further disguise over himself. "Caught a sixteen point buck when I was twenty, aye, I did."

"Really, uncle Pete?"

"It's true," boasted the elder Muggle. "And I killed fourteen rabbits all in one day. We ate stew for a week!" Neither Muggle noticed the subtle ripple in the air as Severus, cloaked in invisibility, passed between them, trailing the coppery scent of blood, but they did see the outline of the wolf near the trees. "Ay, what's that I wonder?" Raising a stubby hand, he pointed towards the edge of the wood, were reflective eyes glittered at him.

"What do you reckon?" asked the nephew, holding his unloaded gun a little tighter as the animal crept closer. "A fox?"

Pete shook his head; behind him, Severus had to smother his contempt for Muggle ignorance. That neither man was screaming in panic already struck him as ignorance so great as to be almost comical. Their innocence - a trait Severus often claimed to despise, yet secretly envied - would be the death of them. "No, too big. Looks like -- a wolf maybe."

Highlighted by the platinum shine of the moon above, the men had no time to flee after being spotted. All at once, the werewolf bounded forward, covering four meters in each leap as it sped across the grass. The men smelled like easy kills to him, and posed a feeble threat. The gunpowder deep inside the metal cartridges of their bullets was a foreign scent to the werewolf, but he did not fear it. Revelling in the sudden gush of screams from the human throats, the wolf gambolled alongside the smaller man, easily catching hold of his ankle. The wound was enough to impair movement, though the screaming Muggle desperately crawled forward by grabbing fistfuls of grass with his hands until the werewolf's teeth settled around his spine and gave a mighty tug that cut all thought and motion forever.

Severus watched in mingled horror and surprise as Lupin went in for the second kill. Unlike with the first, Remus did not kill the second Muggle immediately. He leapt, flattening the Muggle to the ground beneath his weight, then sprung back as if waiting for the man to respond to the play fighting. Dissatisfied with the Muggle's frantic shrieks for help, the wolf bit him twice, creating flesh wounds, then darted a few feet away to watch the Muggle's reaction. The behaviour was so shockingly _un-Remus-like _that Severus struggled to process it. He had supposed Remus had a sense of humour - how else could he moon so hopelessly over an ignorant, unfocussed berk like Sirius Black? - but Severus had never seen Remus act particularly light-hearted. Watching the huge monster frolic like a puppy at play was striking just as it was terrifying, rather like watching a tiger shark nudge a swimmer then circle about as though under the impression it was a two-sided game.

"Get away from me - oh -- oh!" Desperate for survival, the Muggle swung his gun in a wide arc. The butt of it cracked against Remus' shoulder. The wolf cocked his head, studying the creature who had managed, surprisingly, to hurt him. Then he leapt, sharp teeth tearing the man's thin flesh and crunching the bones. Severus, rather nauseated, turned away from the sight, grimacing at the sound of bones snapping and the Muggle gurgling bloody mouthfuls of his last words.

When the wolf had nearly finished its feast, Severus conjured the younger Muggle's body, making it slide behind him as he walked. Dragged, it left a wide trail of blood in its wake, forming an irresistible lure for the werewolf. Severus gulped deep breaths of the cold, distant sea air and headed towards the village. It was time to pay a visit to the home of Emmeline Vance.


	11. Lumière D'Aube

_**Lumière D'Aube**_

...

"_There is no person so severely punished, as those who subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse_." - Seneca

...

The first light of dawn through the window, far from being shell pink with rebirth and forgiveness, was grey, and Severus, looking down at the wolf who was becoming man, felt it only apropos that the fresh day should began with storm-clouds on the horizon. Distantly, thunder roared and the sudden wind wrenched the broken door - now hanging from one solitary hinge - wide open, exposing navy and black clouds gilded with copper and silver flashes of far off lightning.

A moan of pain and exhaustion lured him away from the window. Remus was stirring slightly, and Severus felt his heartbeat speed up a pace as he watched the last hint of canine bone structure disappear beneath the surface of Remus' human skin, leaving pallor in its wake. The man's hair seemed longer in the absence of all other fur, and he curled, still nude, in the form of a dog upon the circular carpet which had once been Emmeline Vance's pride and joy, her first successful rug hooking project. In an attempt to feign mere clinical interest, Severus studied the curve of Remus' spine; the arc of his legs drawn up against his warm mid-section; the back of his thighs. There was no injury on the man save for a few tears in his skin from brambles and thorns; nothing had been able to harm him last night, and he had frolicked free and deadly, without visible wounds to show for it.

Through blurred eyes, Remus, scarcely conscious, saw only a spill of shiny dark hair, wet from rain, and the outline of a robed figure standing above him. As always during transformation, he had no idea who he was, or where, or what, but one name rose to mind, symbolising safety and the promise that things would, indeed, mend, despite the present pain of transfiguration. He spoke in a voice that was half a hoarse whisper, half a sombre canine whimper.

"Padfoot?"

Startled, Severus froze, his hands clutching the wall before him as if for balance. The name, so hateful to his mind, and yet so tempting - a lure of Gryffindor power, the faded glamour of pureblood prestige - flung him backwards into memory, where he was unwilling to go. He recalled a thousand times of hearing the nickname, the secret codeword that meant Sirius Black. He had heard it in three distinct voices - four, if one counted Black's own crowing of the term, his pride and satisfaction in his own self so evident, and Severus did: shouted across rooms by Potter who liked to boast their friendship; name-dropped in difficult situations by the traitor Pettigrew; and, of course, whispered like the name of a deity on high by Remus Lupin. He had never, however, heard _himself_ addressed by the moniker. The extent of affectionate names applied to _him_ was the abbreviation of his name, _Sev_, as spoken by Lily Evans. Snivellus, the term that still made him quake and quail inside, had been the only term the Gryffindors had ever had for him. Even in partial sleep, it struck Severus as supremely odd and a little frightening that Remus would associate Black with him despite the vague similarity in colouring.

Sleep confiscated Remus' voice for a few moments, and Severus leaned back to the window, watching the tremulous sky. He thought of Voldemort, and how the Dark Lord would again be suffused with pleasure at learning of yet another victory. The Order of the Phoenix, archenemy to Voldemort's Death Eaters, was the last series of dominos to drop before conquering Potter himself. Once the boy's defenders were all dead, there would be no one to help the floundering teen, and their success would be assured. Marvelling at his boyhood ignorance, Severus reflected that, at one time, he would have been delighted to deliver the news that another Order member had fallen. There would have been pride in his accomplishment and, like a dog having his head pat by a fickle master, delight in receiving the reward of Voldemort's satisfaction in him. Now, the prospect of the fallen Order left him shaken and even sad, and he worried more than ever about the safety of the boy Potter, in whom he had precious little faith despite his desire to see him succeed.

Suffused with pain, Remus tossed around on the floor, too close to full wakefulness for the lull of sleep to ease his discomfort. With one shaking hand, he wiped his mouth; his palm came away slightly bloodied. Hoping he had only bitten his tongue, Remus tried and failed to rise. His muscles were taxed from the exertion of the previous night, and pulled taut with the efforts of his body to regain his usual shape.

Lying back down, Remus ran a hand over the soft carpeting beneath him, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The absence of peeling paint and splintered wood told him he was nowhere near the Shrieking Shack, though something was making a noise that would not be out of place there; the regular slamming of a shutter or door caught off balance by wind was familiar, if not comforting. Most of the furniture in the abode was intact, so far as he could see. Above him, a bed loomed, neatly made: it had not been slept in. A little ways further a smashed lamp lay on the floor. Trying to ignore the sudden sickness in his belly, Remus continued to look around the room. He was both relieved and nervous to see the black-draped form of Severus Snape standing a little ways off, his back to him.

"Severus?" he ventured, trying to disguise the pitiful fear in his voice.

"I'm here," Severus spoke, turning away from the onslaught of the storm, which was edging closer towards them. Instantly, he knelt down at Remus' side, pushing aside a stray lock of light brown hair. Remus' eyes had gone back to amber, though there was still something feral in them, a last hint of what was locked away inside and rapidly retreating after a long night of marauding. "Don't try to talk," he added. He did not fear physical damage coming to Remus; rather, he preferred not to have to deal with the onslaught of emotion as the man awoke to find the destruction he had wrought. "And stay still."

Failing to heed Severus' advice, Remus struggled to prop himself up on one elbow. His back ached -- everything ached. Elongated bones withered and thinned within him still, and he could feel the burning sensation of thick claws retreating inward, becoming harmless nails trimmed to the quick by his habit of gnawing them unconsciously when upset. His mouth ached as well, the jaws exhausted from the hard work of...what? Worriedly, he looked Severus over.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhat south of Dumfries."

Nodding, Remus sat up. Horribly dizzy, he swayed a little, and pressed his hands against the floor, trying to get his bearings. Normally modest, he felt himself blush as he recognised his nudity, but the other man seemed cautious to avoid an inappropriate glance, and anyway, Remus had grown up sharing dorms and showers with others boys, and was not completely unfamiliar with being seen, and also seeing. It was still something he disliked about transformation, among many other things. Coming too was a vulnerable enough state both physically and emotionally, and the absence of clothes only emphasised that point. He reached up and tugged a blanket down from the bed, wrapping it around one shoulder like a toga. The item smelled like a woman, with a faint trace of rose perfume, but he could not conjure a face or a name that matched the scent.

Slightly wolfish still, he cocked his head, checking for sounds in the distance. He well recognised the threatening rumble of far away thunder, and the whipping wind that cast nearby tree branches into a tizzy, but there were no human sounds within range except for his own breathing, and Severus'. Although his mind was always a fog upon waking from the full moon night, and the memory of his wolf-life usually faded within minutes of coming to, Remus recalled the smorgasbord of scents that had enticed him the previous night. Now, he could smell little besides the heady salt tang of the air and his own sweat. And blood, he realised, with an emotion that was a far cry from shock; he had been expecting it, as soon as he had spied Severus. The Death Eaters would never have allowed him to run free under the full moon, far from the manor prison, if they had not had murder in mind.

Dreading the answer, he lifted his head. "What happened?"

"You transformed," stated Severus.

If he had been more awake or in a situation with less gravity, Remus might have rolled his eyes at the simplicity of the answer. "That much is obvious," he said instead. "But - what did I do? Is anyone hurt?" He glanced towards the ceiling, noting their shelter. "And what is this place?"

Severus sighed. "It _was _the home of Emmeline Vance, until last night." Grimly, he pointed towards the other side of the bed and paused, giving Remus time to lean forward and glimpse the dead woman. Only her legs were visible from his angle, but that was enough to make his stomach churn with dread and self-contempt. "Don't worry, that was my handiwork, not yours. She's unmarked, as you can easily see."

"Avada --?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Remus spared a thought for the late Emmeline. They had not known each other very well, but the elegant witch had treated him with more kindness that he usually expected from the progeny of old pureblood lines. "There was blood spilt here, though, or not far away. I can smell it. It isn't mine."

Taking note of Remus' advanced sense, Severus frowned. "The Dark Lord is no longer content merely with killing his enemies. He wishes to use campaigns of terror, in order to cripple rebellion and inspire fear in potential activists. I was instructed to bring you here, and to ensure that one of us killed Vance, but the task also included the stipulation that we add a few Muggles to the list of the dead. Emmeline had company when I arrived; I allowed them to flee in order that she die believing they were safe - a minor mercy, as I am well aware. Two were Muggle born, another a half-blood; all were part of the resistance. You were responsible for their deaths, I'm afraid." He cleared his throat. "They died quickly, if that provides you with any comfort."

It didn't, really. "Anyone else?"

"Two Muggles, on the edge of a forest near here. They were hunting, apparently, and blundered into you."

"You didn't save them?" Remus queried, shocked.

Severus' look was harsh. "No, of course I didn't. We were sent to kill, and so we did. Luckily, we did not have to traipse to the village in search of victims." _Anyway_, he thought reflexively, remembering what Lucius Malfoy had told him the first time they had gone out to kill Muggles as if for sport, _they were only Muggles_. The faces of the hunters forgotten, he pictured Petunia Evans with her customary sneer of distaste, and his own raging father stinking of alcohol and shouting in the yard. He had despised Muggles as a young man, even those as kindly as Lily's parents. Lily's parents had been of the most agreeable sort, perpetually fascinated with the small tricks he and their daughter had demonstrated on occasion, always risking an angry summons from the Ministry in the process. Always, their house had been open to him, which had been useful on those summer occasions when his father had had too much to drink and rowed with him and his mother. They had been most complimentary of him as well, what Severus remembered believing was a rightful position of submissive praise towards him, their superior. He had felt, then, that his magical endowment had made him better than they, and he had occasionally brought voice to those notions, only to be rewarded with outrage on Lily's behalf. Face burning with the old memory, he looked to Remus and waved his wand, conjuring a set of dark trousers and a white oxford for him to wear, wanting an excuse to turn away and hide his blush from the werewolf.

In agony of guilt was like a fog that blocked out all else. Remus drew his naked knees to his bare chest, wrapping his arm around his legs and adopting the posture of a small child. Hiding his face, he struggled to control the urge to sob. Crying over the dead would not resurrect them, he knew, but he could not help his remorse. Good people, decent people - witches and wizards and Muggles - were all dead, having succumbed to the steel trap of his bite or the razor slice of his claws. Feebly, Remus wished he had been the one who had been lost. His own life, once snuffed, might be the salvation of others, particularly if incarceration by Death Eaters meant he was to be used often as a weapon.

The conspicuous absence of fabric rustling caused Severus, having regained his calm, to turn around. "Get dressed, Lupin. We haven't long to dally; we are expected back before the hour is out."

"Leave me here," Remus answered, not bothering to reach for the trousers. "I can't go back there, not now, not to be used like this."

"Don't be ridiculous," Severus snapped. "They'll hunt you if you escape, and they'll find you. The Order is in fragments, there isn't anyplace safe to go, no protected dwellings anymore, no one to turn to. They would find you and kill you if you ran, and they would kill me as well for letting you go." As an afterthought, he added, "they would also kill the girl, out of spite."

Remus locked eyes with the other man. "Then kill me," he said, imploringly. "Do it, or I'll do it myself."

"And what shall I give as a reason? The Dark Lord finds you valuable, as you well know. I can't simply kill one of our side without just cause."

"Say I stole a wand -- Emmeline's, perhaps -- and attempted to fight you. You had no other choice. Please," Remus said, voice breaking. "I can't do this again. All those people - dead people." He closed his eyes. "They'll never let me go, or let me be. So, end it. It would be merciful. I -- I welcome it."

Severus grabbed Remus' wrist, hauling him to his feet. In a flash, he whisked his wand from his pocket and pressed it against Remus' neck, jabbing the point into his flesh hard enough to bruise. Instantly, Remus paled, his breath quickening and turning shallow. Severus noted the fear in the other man's eyes, and nodded, confirming his suspicions to himself. "You aren't ready to die, so let's hear no more of it," he said, not without a bit of sympathy. He had endured such thoughts of his own, many times, and remembering sharing them with Dumbledore, whose reaction had been far more compassionate towards Severus than his own towards Remus. "And for Merlin's sake, put on your clothes. We must go, or we will both be hunted as deserters."

Sullen, Remus plucked up the trousers at last and stepped into them. Buttoning them, he lifted his head and caught Severus watching him. "Yes?"

"Hurry," Severus spoke, feigning disinterest.

The thunderstorm had finally hit, and the driving rain made a blur out of the surrounding countryside. Severus could scarcely make out the winding cobblestone walk, framed with flowers, that connected Emmeline's front door to the dirt road beyond. As if speaking for Remus' inner turmoil, the storm howled and raged, and the wind tore through the trees, tearing away leaves with a high-pitched shriek. Torrential water poured down, icy tears to match the hot ones that dripped slowly down Remus' face as he slowly did up the buttons of his shirt. The water would wash away the stains of blood on the front yard, but even at its worst, the storm made no impact on the shimmering green symbol above the house; the Dark Mark shone grisly green and bright in the inky sky, a sign to wizards and witches everywhere that Voldemort was gaining power and not even the purebloods could stand in his way.


	12. Traître

_**Traître**_

_A/N: I'm leaving tomorrow to go out of the country, so this will be the last update for two weeks or so, but I promise I will post an update as soon as I get back, before if possible. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed; it really makes writing all the more fun. :) More updates soon! I promise!_

_..._

"_There is a point at which everything becomes simple and there is no longer any question of choice, because all you have staked will be lost if you look back. Life's point of no return." _- Dag Hammarskjold

The wand felt numb in his hand, and Remus grasped it experimentally, adjusting to the sleek feel of polished wood beneath his fingers. It had been too long. The wand was not his own, of course - he rather suspected Bellatrix had snapped that one out of spite - but reasonably similar, made of cherry wood. Naturally, it lacked the unique element that infused power within his own, the opalescent moonstone, but he rather thought dragon's heartstring would suffice.

"Nothing funny, you got that?" stated the burly, blonde-haired Death Eater to Remus' right. He jabbed his own wand tip against the nape of Remus' neck, plainly uncomfortable. Shifting back and forth, balancing his weight on his left foot, then his right, he scowled at Bellatrix. "I don't like this."

She smiled. Simpering, she touched Remus' hair where it grew long, extending over the collar of his dark robes, her grin widening as Remus shivered, gooseflesh visible across his forearms. "Nothing to worry about, Dragomir. This one wouldn't hurt a fly unless ordered to, isn't that right, Lupin?" She twisted a lock of his hair in her fingers, enjoying the sensation of his body tensing near her own. It had been a long time, and Rabastan rarely reached for her anymore in the darkness, even when they were coiled in the privacy of their own home, sprawled undressed on the wide feather bed. "He knows that we know his weakness. Ginny Weasley may be out of the manor, but it's a quick Floo to Spinner's End, isn't it, werewolf?"

Stiffening, Remus set his jaw. So there it was, the threat. He had been right in assuming that Ginny Weasley's life would be put on the line every time a new demand was made of him; Severus had taken her, but Remus doubted the man could protect her from an onslaught of Death Eaters even if he had any desire so to do, and given the last time he had seen Severus with Ginny, he doubted Severus would even care what torment the girl suffered, even death. As for Remus, the memories of her, entwined with him in sleep, pressing delicate petal lips against his mouth, wrapping arms still taut from old Quidditch practises around his neck were all he had. The visions were growing dim, the words half-forgotten, his memory seemed dusty as if looking back on long ago rather than a week past, but Remus kept tight hold of Ginny in his thoughts. Sometimes he could not sleep for worry, as he wondered how she had fared in the house of Severus, alone in the dark with the man who had violated her. Remus wanted to believe it had all been an act for the benefit of the Death Eaters, and that in privacy he had shown Ginny endless sympathy, proffered apologies and explanations, but try as he might, Remus could not summon trust for Severus anymore.

Taking his silence for assent, Bellatrix grinned ever broader. "You see," she boasted to the bulky blonde opposite. "He's nothing to worry about. Soon, if Snape is right, he'll become a willing servant. Fenrir claims the taste of blood turns the werewolves more feral; even those raised like legitimate wizards, like Lupin here." She patted Remus' head as though he were a pet dog. "The control he has will break, eventually."

"What is it you want from him?" asked Dragomir sceptically.

"Just a task, a little task. No killing this time, I'm afraid," spoke Bellatrix sadly, as if offering condolences. She noticed Remus' shoulders slumping slightly as he relaxed. "Not yet," she added, and watched with pleasure as he paled. "First, something very simple. Contact Harry Potter."

Remus flinched at the name, startling. In captivity he had almost forgotten that there was still hope, that Harry ran free along with Hermione and Ron. A burst of warm, bright joy seemed to flare up inside of him for an instant, to be smothered just as quickly by hopelessness and terror. The trio, though clever and bold, were nonetheless children, mere teenagers. Hermione was brilliant, Remus knew, possibly beyond any witches living and certainly more clever than her peers, but she was still young and lacking in experience. Harry was brash and careless, with a tendency to charge full-speed ahead without pausing to evaluate the dangers, and his best friend, Ron, though dedicated and strong, was not known for possessing either the skill or the mettle required to combat a legion of hooded, adult wizards intent on spilling blood.

Licking his lips, Remus paused to reflect that his mouth had gone very dry. "I don't know where they are," he said. Trying for calm, his voice nonetheless emerged shaky. "And I have never owned an owl in my life."

"Not with owls, fool!" Bellatrix snapped, losing her temper. "Do you possibly imagine the Dark Lord, the wisest wizard who has ever lived, wants you for the special service of penning post to a couple of children? Obviously, anyone here is fully capable of sending an owl carrying mail."

"Then why do you require my help?"

Smack, and Bellatrix's hand collided with Remus' jaw, resulting in a small explosion of pain. As his body was already wracked with pain - he had not yet fully healed from the gruesome aftermath of his transformation under the full moon, or Severus' Cruciatus - he did not cry out but merely accepted the blow. His skin, once sensitive, seemed to be growing accustomed to injury of late.

"Me, require something from you? You arrogant little -- filthy -- werewolf," Bellatrix settled upon, turning up her nose at him as though he were a particularly smelly sock or distasteful reptile. "Severus Snape will have to remember to keep you in check, won't he? I see his interest in you has gone to your head. Just because you are fed and allowed to sleep in a warm bed at night, do not forget what you are, and do not presume you occupy a high place within this organisation."

Humbly as he could muster, Remus bowed his head. He was filled with loathing for Bellatrix, but it was almost easy to submit to her, to succumb to the voice inside which spoke of inferiority and worthlessness. He often thought about that, at night. For a brief, shining moment, he had known some self-worth wrapped in Ginny's arms, but the sensation was long passed. He had not been able to protect her from being raped, just as he had not been able to protect Sirius or James or Lily from death, or - much earlier - a young, withdrawn Snape from being bullied by his cocky, overconfident friends.

Bellatrix patted him, surreptitiously enjoying the thrill of treating a wild and dark creature like a house pet. The danger that he might sometime tire of it, and strike, was part of the lure. "Very good," she spoke, syrupy. "Now, you're not to contact Potter by any usual means. The boy knows the game, you see, and he will suspect any communication from beyond, except for one. The Order had a way of communicating, didn't they?" Her eyes glittered with anticipation. "A secret way, a way in which they could be certain of no tampering?"

Remus nodded, feeling traitorous, though he was certain she already knew about the method of using a Patronus to communicate. "Yes."

Gleefully, she grinned at Dragomir. "You see, you see - I told you Snape was right. He infiltrated the group, after all." Turning back to Remus, she stroked his arm, almost tenderly. "You will send a dispatch by Patronus to Potter. It does not matter that you do not know where he is; it will find him, I know that."

Chewing his bottom lip, Remus felt as if he had just plummeted several miles. "I can't."

Her eyes instantly shadowed. "What do you mean?"

Clearing his throat and fighting for some sort of courage, Remus raised his head. "I will not. I can not. Harry Potter, his friends -- they are just children. I can't help you hurt them."

Bellatrix's wand whirled from under her cloak with astonishing speed, and Remus felt himself felled by her Cruciatus before he had time to worry about what she might do to him. He screamed his throat hoarse, feeling as though hours of suffering had passed by the time she finally let him up, though only seconds had ticked by.

"You'll cooperate?" she asked, her voice harsh.

Bracing himself, Remus shook his head. "No." He met her eyes, searching for some kind of humanity, but they were as devoid of mercy as a shark's. Still, he did not waver; in another situation, he might have been proud. "No."

He was slammed back down against the floor, though not by the Cruciatus, but instead by a kick from Dragomir, aimed against the side of his head from the Death Eater's large boot. Bellatrix had stormed away from him, her dark hair streaming behind her in the wake of her movements. Remus hoped she was fleeing, giving him up as a bad job. It would not be so bad to be killed, he knew. Ginny would be alone, but if Severus was truly on their side, he could see to her protection; the Death Eaters seemed to have little interest in her. And he would be free of the awful burden of choosing to kill to spare someone else's life. At least the pain would stop, finally, and Remus was to the point of desiring the warm blackness from which he would never emerge.

Death, however, was not coming for him, and Bellatrix did not have him put to death. Instead, she stuck her head in the fireplace opposite after tossing in a handful of powder, and shouted something, though he voice was muffled by the crackle of the flames and the occasional pop from knots in the wood. Remus watched nervously as she stepped back from the fire, making room for two figures to emerge from the flames.

Seeing Ginny again sent an electric thrill down Remus' spine; he could practically smell the ozone in the air between them, as if the air had been rent with lightning. She looked good, well taken care of, he noticed. She was dressed in a simple skirt and green sweater, a set of dark robes about her shoulders. Remus noticed the Hogwarts Head Girl pin glinting on one side, the Gryffindor crest on the other, and decided the mystery of Lily Evans' missing possessions -- which had ended up with Lily complaining of having clothing stolen and accusing the Marauders of having thieved them as a prank - was finally solved. Ginny was freshly bathed, her hair neatly plaited, and if she seemed far more wan and silent than usual, none of the Death Eaters seemed to noticed. Remus remembered Lucius Malfoy's interest in the girl, and wondered if Ginny's dreamy gaze and slow movements were not the result of some sedating potion. Severus was certainly more than capable of brewing one.

"We have a problem," spoke Bellatrix, throwing Remus a filthy look. Ginny followed her gaze and spied Remus; her mouth opened in shock, and her eyes began to water, but Severus pushed her in the direction of the window and ordered her to pour him some wine, thus distracting her,

Severus glanced mildly at Remus. "Oh?"

"He refuses to cooperate. Again!"

"You must give it time, Bellatrix. Remember, only a few scant months ago, he was a member of the Order; old alliances die hard. There is nothing to worry about. He is making progress." Severus narrowed his eyes. "He has not made any escape attempts, has he?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "No, but --"

" -- there you are," Severus finished grandly, as if he believed the discussion was at an end. Accepting wine from Ginny, he sent her over to the fireplace to scoop their spilt ashes from the rug, knowing full well it would not do for them to have an emotional scene in front of witnesses. He stared at Remus a moment, wishing there was some way to communicate nonverbally with the werewolf, to let him know he, Severus, was still intent on helping him and Ginny.

"The Dark Lord has decreed he complete another task. He is to send word to Potter, arranging a meeting, whereupon we can finally capture the brat and have done with it."

On her knees before the fireplace, Ginny gasped, but smothered it with a cough. She knew better than to attract attention to herself now. The past few days with Severus had been an almost unending serious of lessons on wandless magic, discretion and the art of boldfaced lies. Ginny, an average student at best in Potions, had become a star pupil in the school of survival at Severus' knee, though their first exchanges had been difficult. Neither had forgotten the way he had fallen at her feet upon arriving at Spinner's End, full of guilt and apology. Tears had actually formed, netted in his eyelashes, as he had stammered a thousands apologies and begged forgiveness. It had taken a while, but Ginny had found herself capable of forgiving, once she had calmed down enough to process what had happened to her and the reasons why. Both had found the impersonal topics of Dark Arts and Defence an easier medium for conversation, though Severus had wavered between leniency and severity for a while, no longer sure of himself. In the end, he had managed to impart enough information into the girl. Now, he needed to do the same with Remus, but was puzzled how to go about it.

"And so he shall," spoke Severus carelessly, as if it was not a matter for consideration at all. "Lupin, you have heard Bellatrix' request. Are you willing to comply?"

"No."

At the hearth, Ginny froze. The carpet was devoid of ashes, but she mimed the sweeping nonetheless, listening keenly.

"There you have it!" shouted Bellatrix, triumphant in her rage. "He won't do it. At least," she continued, "not without some prompting." Instantly, she hurried forward, grabbing Ginny by the hair and yanking her backward. "Do it, wolf, or I'll kill her!"

"I'll remind you," Severus said, his voice deadly cold and soft. "She is mine. I will choose when she dies, if at all. For the time being, she makes a very satisfactory assistant." He forced himself to leer, though Bellatrix simply looked stony. "I want her kept alive."

Bellatrix looked outraged, but as she clenched her teeth, she released her hold on Ginny's hair. The girl fell to the ground with a thud, her hands in her hair as if to soothe her scalp. Panic-stricken, she looked to Remus, then to Severus, the latter of whom gave her a tiny nod, warning her to keep still and not protest.

"Very well, Lupin, if you will not do it, the girl will bear my anger," hissed Bellatrix cruelly. She raised her wand high, letting Remus see that she was serious. "Cruci --"

"NO!" Remus leapt up, sprinting towards Ginny as if hoping to shield her. "I'll do it!"

Inside his mind, chaos reigned. Remus' heart, torn in two, struggled with the impossible choice -- Harry Potter, possible saviour of the wizard world, dear Sirius' godson, or Ginny Weasley, gaping at him wide-eyed, the red, red lips he had kissed so harshly parted in shock.

As clear as yesterday he remembered lying in a bed with Sirius in one of the rooms at 12 Grimmauld. It had been quiet, before the Order had come with so much noise and ruckus, and they had found themselves a liquid tangle of lips and limbs and overly long hair. Afterwards, Sirius had rested his head on Remus' chest, and mused about the godson he scarcely knew, stolen from him thrice - once by Azkaban, the second time by the devastating escape of Pettigrew, the third by Dumbledore, who had insisted the boy remain with the Muggles a bit longer. Sirius had been proud to be a godfather, Remus knew. As a younger, blessedly innocent man, Sirius had talked about the excursions he would take the boy on, the presents he would buy, the death-defying rides upon his motorcycle on which he would take the child much to Lily's displease. Remus too had felt partly responsible for Harry, the first child born by a Marauder. He too had planned on gifts, though of the literary sort, and perhaps sedate trips to museums and art galleries which would not give the boy's mother a heart attack. James and Lily were long dead, and Sirius now as well; surely the burden of Harry's protection fell to Remus.

On the other hand -- Ginny. The Death Eaters would never stop hunting Harry, but Ginny was reasonably safe; Remus sensed it in her movements, the trusting glances up to Severus. If he let her suffer, or if he allowed her to die, what good would be accomplished? Voldemort would continue tracking Harry, and the end result in Remus' pessimistic mind, was inevitable. Ginny, without any family to speak of any longer, save one brother travelling with Harry -- doomed, probably -- who had already endured unspeakable horrors; Remus did not believe he could make himself put her through those things again.

"I will," he said again. "I'll do it."

Bellatrix looked satisfied. "Good. Tell them you are on the run, that you escaped. You wish to meet them in the Forest of Dean - they know where it is. Some of our number tracked them there scarcely a month ago. Tell them nothing else, only to expect you, to lower their protections so that you can join them." Critically, she met Remus' eyes. "Make sure it is convincing. Do not tip them off, or provide any warnings."

Hands shaking erratically, Remus nodded. He conjured his Patronus with a heavy heart, stricken to see the silvery-white substance bloom into the achingly familiar shape of a large, shaggy dog that, if seen in real life, would no doubt have been black. His Patronus, the spitting image of Padfoot, regarded him with blind, smoky white eyes, before dashing off, innately knowing where to find the recipients of its message.


	13. Dans La Forêt

_**Dans la forêt**_

_**A/N**__: One last little update before leaving, as I couldn't resist. For Remuslives23, who just __loves__ cliff hangers. :)_

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"_Love, like fire, cannot subsist without constant impulse; it ceases to live from the moment it ceases to hope or to fear _" - François de la Rochefoucauld

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A giant spectral dog leapt nimbly through the dense forest, unaffected as it bounded over thick roots designed for tripping unsuspecting feet and squeezed through narrow gaps filled with thistles and brambles, none of which snagged on the shining fur. In the semi-darkness, the Patronus that bore so much resemblance to Padfoot moved forth. It did not seem to hurry. On the contrary, it hardly seemed to be moving at all, so smooth and languid were its movements, but it covered ground at a quick pace nonetheless, smoothly gliding as if on currents of air.

The trio were camped at the edge of a wood, and the patronus found them easily. It did not use scent or sound or known addresses; rather, it tracked them by their very souls, as it had been sent to do by Remus, albeit under extreme duress. The real Padfoot might have risked his life and perhaps even Remus' to shelter his godson and the young man's friends, but the patronus, despite sensing Remus' discomfort, carried on the task.

"Oy -- what's that?"

Pausing in the middle of gathering wood for the fire, Ron Weasley slowly rose upright, letting the twigs scatter from his grasp. He knew immediately what the creature was, but not whose, nor what message it would bear. The moon was well on the wane, almost invisible in the cloudy sky, just a sharp sliver of pearl far beyond his reach, and no stars were out, but the patronus glowed with an eerie white light. Ron's breath plumed in the chill and he shivered, but the creature stood still, not breathing, simply waiting for the right person to emerge from the tent.

Soon enough, a head topped with dark hair ducked through the tent flap. "What is it, Ron?"

Pointing, Ron indicated the huge shaggy dog that stood a little ways off. As soon as the patronus spied Harry, it moved slightly closer.

"Is that --?"

"Padfoot," breathed Hermione, who had emerged from the tent as well. Though it looked simply like an ordinary pup tent used for one camper, inside, the tent opened into a comfortable enough flat. She was loathe to leave the slight warmth that came from the feeble fire in the fireplace, but the sight of the massive dog, as white as any ghost, was too intriguing to pass up. Delicately, as if it were the real Sirius Black, she held out one hand, and to her surprise the Patronus edged closer, finally settling near enough that she could pat his head.

Hermione's shock and Ron's bewilderment did not compare with the complete amazement Harry felt. His stomach seemed to rocket upwards as if he had suddenly accelerated into the air during a wild game of Quidditch; the ground seemed far below his feet, and all the ordinary concerns that had been playing on his mind were abandoned with it.

The dog patronus left Hermione's side and sought out Harry, as its owner had instructed. For one fragile moment, Harry let himself reach out to stroke the familiar head and muzzle of the massive dog he had only seen before etched in dark fur. Swooping, his stomach made flips of hopeful anxiety, and his mind boggled at the sight before him. His godfather, his dead godfather -- was Sirius alive after all this time? Harry's brain was feverish with possibilities. Each was far-fetched, yet wonderful, for all ended with Sirius coming back to life or never having died at all. Sirius, after all, had more reason than most to feign his death. He had died a wanted fugitive, hunted by the Ministry, but he had also been an enemy of the Death Eaters, most especially his cousin, Bellatrix.

"Sirius!" Harry gasped finally, in amazement. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione reach for him, but he shook her hand away before it could settle on his elbow. Ignoring her sympathetic look -- how she could pity him at a time like this, Harry could not comprehend -- Harry bent down on one knee in the snow. If he noticed that the dog left no tracks, he hid the information from his conscious mind, clinging to fragile hope. "Sirius! Sirius!"

"It isn't --" began Hermione, before she was shushed by Ron. Startled, she stepped away, crossing her arms over her chest, but the glare she directed at the red-head was brief, and she turned back to Harry, sorrow etched on her features.

The dog's mouth opened, but at once Harry sprang up, his eyes scanning the tree line. He was certain his godfather was there, hiding among the thick branches and peeling bark of the tree trunks. _Of course_, his mind reasoned easily, happy to let him experience the hopeful moment, _he doesn't want to be seen yet. He doesn't know if it's us, he has to be careful. We could be Death Eaters._ Smiling widely, Harry held his wand overhead, letting the Lumos spell illuminate his features. "It's us!" he cried out, not taking care to lower his voice. "It's me -- it's Harry! Sirius?" Pausing, he listened for a reply, but only heard Hermione's startled breathing. "I'm Harry James Potter," he tried again, hoping to disclose the right information to alleviate his godfather's concerns. "Your godson. I met you my third year at Hogwarts. You -- you escaped with Buckbeak," he tried. "We helped. You called Hermione the cleverest witch of our year. It's Pettigrew who betrayed my parents, not you!"

The wind whistled through the trees, but Sirius did not answer or emerge. Harry's heart, still beating hopefully, ached within his chest, and he lowered his wand a fraction of an inch. "No," he said to Hermione, pushing her away as she made to embrace him. He already knew what she would say, but he did not want his hopes shattered so soon, not when Sirius could be so near. Closing his eyes, he thought of their last encounter, the way Sirius had fallen through the veiled archway without any warning or farewell. _And it was my fault_, he reminded himself harshly. _I didn't study Occlumency with Snape, I didn't care enough, didn't understand. Voldemort tricked me, Sirius came to save me_ -- "No!" he said again, shouting this time, and he shoved Hermione from him so forcefully that she fell into the snow.

Irate, Ron jumped forward to help, but at that moment the Patronus spoke, shattering the illusion of Padfoot. The voice issuing from its phantom body was familiar, but it was not the voice of Sirius Black. Instead, Remus Lupin spoke, and even though Harry had longed for contact from the man who had been closer to Sirius Black than anyone, he was disappointed.

"I am Remus J. Lupin, last of the faithful Marauders. I've escaped the Death Eaters," spoke Remus' voice through the mouth of the dog. Hermione sighed with relief, closing her eyes; he had been her favourite professor not to mention an occasional confidante in her third year and later, at the headquarters of the Order. "I managed to escape with your sister Ginny, Ron; we are on the run and defenceless. We wish to join you."

Forgetting Hermione, Ron staggered backwards in shock, clutching his chest in a gesture that might have been comical in other circumstances. He tripped over a branch and fell into the snow, his eyes still glued to the dog. "Alive," he stated, his eyes gleaming with sudden tears of relief.

"Meet us in the forest of Dean, and lower your defences so we can find you," spoke the Padfoot patronus. It nodded then and, turning away from Harry, momentarily locked eyes with Hermione. "I am who I say I am. Remember the Shrieking Shack." With that, the snowy dog turned tail and bounded off. The trio kept it in sight for a moment, but then it stepped into a pool of sudden starlight and vanished.

Dusting the snow off of himself, Ron shook his head like someone who had water in their ears. "Ginny," he gulped, and cracked a terrifically broad grin that was slightly marred by the tears trickling down his face. He had received the news, or at least the rumours, and believed all of his family was dead. "My sister!"

Harry nodded, decidedly subdued. "Lupin's alive!" he remarked, showing less enthusiasm than he might have done if he had not just been convinced of his godfather's miraculous return to the land of the living. He felt a little stronger than he had been all the same, and his heart beat with renewed strength. Apologetic, he reached over to help Hermione to her feet. He expected to be met with a look of great delight and relief from her, but instead, Hermione was chewing her bottom lip.

"What is it?" asked Harry, who had seen that expression before.

"It _was_ Lupin, but -- it wasn't." Hermione bit her lip harder. "Something's not right."

Ron furrowed his brow in disbelief. "What? Hermione, are you crazy? That's the best news we've had in months! Lupin's alive, and he's got my sister with him, and we'll see them, well, as soon as we can get to the Forest, right? They're probably there already," he realised, bursting with excitement. "How fast can we get there?" He withdrew his wand and raised it high, preparing to shrink their tent, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

"No," she said, and then to Harry, who was in the process of disarming the enchantments which kept them safe, "wait!"

Both boys stared at her in utter disbelief, unable to comprehend why she was not as anxious as they to hurry to the Forest of Dean and join their comrades.

"Didn't you hear what he said? Remus, I mean -- Lupin," she added, for their benefit. "'_Remember the Shrieking Shack'_."

"What does that mean?" Harry wondered aloud. Somewhat out of sorts, he lowered his wand arm, frowning. "Do you suppose it's a code? Maybe he fears we're being watched, or he is, and he's trying to through them off the trail."

Ron nodded eagerly. "Yeah, that could be it. But," he went on, and his face fell. "Which one do you think he means, then? He said to go to the Forest of Dean, but maybe he meant meet him at the Shrieking Shack?" Bemused, he turned to Harry.

"The Death Eaters don't know about the Shack," proposed Harry.

"They might," Hermione cut in impatiently. She shook her head. "Scabbers -- Peter Pettigrew -- he is loyal to Voldemort now, but he used to be friends with your father, Harry, and all his lot: Sirius and Remus especially. It's impossible that he would have forgotten that Remus used to transform down there. He probably spilled that secret to Voldemort right away," she added in disgust. "But, either way it doesn't matter because --"

Excited, Ron was practically jumping up and down. "So it's the Forest, then? What are we waiting for?"

"Honestly, Ronald, use your head," Hermione snapped. "The Forest of Dean is a Muggle preserve, not a magical one. I doubt there are any wizards and witches who even know it exists, or have been there before."

"Great," Harry piped up. "So the Death Eaters won't track him there. They'll think he's gone to the Shack, or number 12, or --"

Rage gave way and Hermione stomped her foot. "Aren't you two paying any attention at all? It's way too suspicious. Lupin is a half-blood, and Ginny's a pure-blood, so how would they even know how to find the Forest of Dean, or know that such a place even exists? Furthermore, we were there just a few weeks ago. It's a coincidence almost beyond belief that they would have stumbled onto the exact spot as us and not made contact. Anyway," she went on, before Ron could interrupt. "Even if they could find it, how would they get there? Remus said he had no weapons, which means no wands, and I'm sure neither of you noticed, but he's no good with wandless spells, and Ginny hasn't had time to learn any yet."

"But, the Patronus," Harry broke in.

"I can't explain that," Hermione admitted. "But something isn't right. If they really wanted to meet us, how come they aren't here, now? They could have followed the Patronus," she pointed out, silencing Ron with a look. "And the comment about the Shack. It's obvious we aren't supposed to meet them there --"

"He sent us a message, Hermione," Harry exclaimed. "What are we supposed to do, ignore him? What if they need help?" Thinking of Ginny, he felt his heart pound at a slightly more brisk pace. "They could be hurt, or something."

Not looking at him, Hermione mused, then nodded sharply as if confirming something to herself. "The Shack," she spoke solemnly. "I think I know what it means. Don't you remember?"

"Remember having my leg damn near torn off," muttered Ron bitterly.

Harry, however, nodded eagerly. "It's the first place I ever saw Sirius face to face. I'd heard he was my godfather, but I thought he murdered my parents, and all those other people, including Pettigrew --"

"Yes, Pettigrew," spoke Hermione slowly, somewhat exasperated. "Sirius dragged Ron inside and you and I followed, and then Lupin came. I remember being so scared. We thought Sirius had betrayed your parents, remember, and that Lupin was a traitor too, helping him into the castle -- but," she went on, her voice softer "it turned out they weren't traitors at all. Pettigrew had been the one who helped Voldemort kill your parents." She nodded, confirming it to herself. "We thought they were bad, but it turned out, we could trust them. And Lupin, now -- we think we can trust him, but we can't."

"You're mad," opined Ron.

"No, I'm not," said Hermione fairly sedately considering the insult. "I'm not saying Lupin is evil, or a Death Eater, just that -- ah, the Death Eaters, yes. That would explain it," she said, mostly to herself. "I knew I heard voices in the Forest last time we were there. They've got him still, it's a trick, and -- RONALD!"

Her startled cry fell upon deaf ears though, for Ron, who had worked himself into a frenzy of desperation in the hopes of seeing his last remaining family member, had already raised his wand high and was uttering the spell of Apparition.

"Ron, no, wait!" shouted Harry, running full tilt towards his friend. His mind was a blur of jumbled thoughts. He couldn't abandon Lupin or Ginny, if there was any chance of them actually being on the run and in need of his assistance, but in the back of his mind, he knew Hermione was rarely wrong and would never purposefully avoid helping their friends if she thought the possibility of doing so was real. "Ron, come back --"

It was too late. The spot where Ron had stood a moment before was empty. Locking eyes, Harry and Hermione raised their wands in imitation. Hermione felt her heart thudding painfully, her limbs tingling with fear she could not suppress, and as she met Harry's gaze, she read the same thoughts on his expression. Wordlessly, they stepped into the void of time and space, leaving the safe haven of their protected camp and moving rapidly towards the Forest of Dean in Ron's wake, come what may.


	14. Quatre

I'm home! Had a great time, and now hopefully will be updating regularly. Thanks to everyone for being patient! :)

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_**Quatre**_

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"_The enemy of my enemy is my friend"_ - Proverb

...

"What have I done? What have I done?" howled Remus Lupin as he stood, pacing the floors of the small room within the manor which, when opened, was at Severus' disposal. It was less spacious than some of the others but more finely appointed than most. Had Remus known the woman better, he might have recognised Narcissa's hand at work in the silvery decor and touches of red velvet, as well the tributes to Slytherin in the notes of house green. Had he been superbly intimate with her, he might have paid attention to the fact that Severus and Severus alone was permitted to stay in this, her favourite haunt, and he might have questioned the connection between the two. However, he did not know Narcissa well and was far too distraught to notice or care about anything but the predicament in which he had placed Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Quiet," snapped Severus irritably from his position in the chair opposite. He watched as Remus continued circling, slowly wearing down the fragile antique carpet in the shape of his circuit. "I know you feel guilty," he said, managing to make his sympathy sound sarcastic, as if the virtue of Remus' emotions struck a wrong chord within him. "You always do," he added, as Remus glanced at him in surprise. "There's nothing which can be done for it now, though, is there? So if you have any sense" -- his voice rose -- "you'll stop this infernal pacing and shut up so I can think."

Remus stopped moving and dropped as if exhausted onto the bed. "You have a plan? What are you going to do?"

"Nothing if you don't leave off pestering me," said Severus. He was not as irate as his tone suggested, but he was also tired of hearing Remus give voice to his inner torment. Severus was tired of the plaintive whining, a Gryffindor trait that had always annoyed him, as only Gryffindors left school not humbled, still believing the world might be fair, and good and derived for their exclusive benefit. No beleaguered Hufflepuff or pressured Ravenclaw, and certainly no despised Slytherin ever escaped into adulthood still believing in such rosy myths as happy endings. However, it was not only his disgust that bothered Severus, but the fact that lately, Lupin's emotions had come to stir something within him as well. To be sure, he was neither as affected or as hopeful as the werewolf, but although he could not always share Remus' feelings, of late, he could experience feelings of his own. Curiously, he had found not only sympathy for the other man hidden deep within him, but a sort of -- affection?

"I'm sorry," came Remus' quick reply. "I just can't believe I --"

"You had no choice," Severus interrupted. "My influence may have kept them from killing Miss Weasley, but Bellatrix certainly would not have refrained from torturing her. You did what you had to do. As for now, your patronus has likely not reached them; at the moment, they are safe."

Remus nodded gravely, but his heart still fluttered with nervousness and shame. "I tried to warn them, but I'm not sure they understood."

"Miss Granger," spoke Severus, unable to restrain his sneer.

"Yes," Remus agreed. "I hope she figured out what I meant. She's a brilliant witch, but no doubt they're all under a great strain at the moment, perhaps not thinking clearly. I don't even know where they are, if they have shelter, or food, or --"

"I'm sure anyone as resourceful as Hermione Granger has managed to locate someplace safe for them to stay, and I daresay even Potter isn't so dense as to be completely incapable of locating provisions. Though," he added, his tone ironic, "the way he often returned to school in the summers, so thin and ragged, perhaps he can't manage such a menial task."

Distracted, Remus let the slight on his lover's godson go. "Pad -- I mean," he hastened, blushing, "the patronus might have reached them by now."

"Not yet," decided Severus. "In any case, you did say you'd done something to warn Miss Granger?"

"I told her to remember the shack. The Shrieking Shack."

Severus nodded slowly. "Thereby telling her someone cannot be trusted, as among your little party. Marauders," he remembered, his voice bitter. "Yes, she might have the brains to figure out your intentions, but whether or not Potter and Weasley listen, given their brash irrationality, their tendency to throw themselves into danger whenever the opportunity presents itself, come what may --"

"Yes?" spoke Remus, his voice hard.

"So like James," answered Severus. "The boy's exactly like his father."

Raising an eyebrow, Remus stuck out his chin defiantly. "Probably why Sirius was always so proud of him -- why _we_ were so proud, I should say. Him and I."

The colour drained from Severus' face except for red spots high upon his cheeks; it looked like he had been slapped across the face. Pale and shocked, he stared reproachfully at Remus, who shifted just like one of Severus' students under that sharp, furious gaze.

"Black," Severus spat, putting more malice into the single word than most people could fit into a paragraph.

Cocky almost, Remus regarded him casually, though inside, he was suddenly scared. Duels with Severus had been mostly successful in school when he was backed by someone else, but alone, he did not face his chances against the raven-haired man, particularly unarmed. "Yes, Black, Severus. Sirius Black. He _is_ dead. Would it trouble you so much to let go of the past?"

"You and Black," was Severus' reply.

"Oh so now it's 'me and Black'. Usually your tirades are against Sirius and James. Has something changed?"

"How could you stand it?" Severus hissed, his voice bypassing silky and cold altogether and finding a much hotter tone, fuelled with some kind of unexplainable fire. "Him always parading around like he was better than all the rest. Constantly flirting with all those girls, toying with you while playing best pals with Potter? You were probably the only decent friend he had, the only one who didn't care what he looked like or his family name or how many galleons he had in his account at Gringott's, but he scarcely gave you the time of day, did he? He never listened to a word you said, I can tell you that from experience." He was practically shouting. "You hero-worshipped him, the arrogant berk! What did he ever do for you?"

Flabbergasted, Remus attempted to rise, but could not muster the strength to propel himself out of the bed. He shook his head, stunned and startled as much from the tirade as the look in Severus' eye, which was half-mad and strangely possessive.

"Sirius was the best friend I ever --"

"Oh, don't give me that. He was a menace, completely hateful, disrespectful towards everyone, even you."

"He was haughty, I'll grant that," spoke Remus softly. "He'd been told since birth that as a member of 'the noble house of Black' he was better than all others. His blood ran pure, and blue I might add; he was wealthy and it's plain what riches do to some people. But he was a good person, both in school and out, and after Azkaban, if there had been any meanness in him, it was gone."

Severus shook his head. "Still the same excuses."

"I'm not excusing him," Remus pointed out. "What he and James did to you in school was awful. He was a bully, sometimes, though I've never been able to blame him for that; look at his family, at Bellatrix. We all were awful, I'm ashamed to say." He held up a hand as Severus made to speak. "No, let me. I should have done more when we were children. I should have stood up for you. The fact that I was so grateful to be in their company doesn't excuse that I sat by idly and watched you be hurt, and I am sorry. But your hatred for Sirius --"

He was not able to complete the sentence, because abruptly, Severus rose and sat beside him momentarily on the bed, and in the space of a few seconds, Severus had managed to accomplish not only kissing him, but leaping up as if in horror and hurrying from the room. By the time Remus reached the hallway and was flung back into the room by the magical barrier that kept _him_ prisoner within the manor, Severus had Disapparated.

...

It was pitch black in the Forest of Dean. Even if the moon had risen to its highest point and shone full and wide, the clouds were thick enough to obscure all traces of penetrating light. Beneath the clustered trees, Severus hurried along, his cloak and robes billowing behind him. He was panting, though not from his quick pace, and his cheeks burned despite the chill air as he moved through the snow, letting the hem of his cloak wipe away telltale footprints.

In the distance he heard muffled shouting, and his heart pounded painfully in his chest as he picked up speed. He could not tell if the voices belonged to the children or to the Death Eaters, but it was plain someone was here. Grimly, he cursed Potter's rash thoughtlessness, his tendency to leap without looking, to act and ask question only later, when his view was tinged with regret. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Severus reflected that he had also, of late, been subject to impulse, but he excused himself easily. His actions were unlikely to get him killed. _Well_, he reflected, thinking of the way the werewolf's eyes had shown tiger orange under the full moon, _perhaps not_. However, the thought brought not fear, but a strange stirring, and he pushed it away before he could dwell any further.

"Ginny? Ginny?" shouted a voice not too far away, and Severus started just for a moment, recognising the voice of Ronald Weasley. _Idiot_, he mused, hurrying forth. The boy was not taking any precautions whatsoever, simply hollering as if he were in no danger at all.

After a moment, a second voice joined in, this one hissed through clenched teeth. "Ron! Ron -- be quiet! We don't know whose out there. It could be a trap."

_Wise girl_, Severus reflected, but the thought did not cheer him. She had obviously not been able to encourage her companions to see sense, and they had put themselves, and her, in grave danger. Even she was oblivious to the real risk; Severus could hear her blundering through the undergrowth, practically making a target out of herself by snapping twigs and branches underfoot as she hurried to clap a hand over Weasley's mouth. They sounded like a trio of blundering oxen, not the slightest stealth to their movements, and Severus could not deny his disappointment. It came along with the flicker of fear; he'd thought he'd taught them better than that in the sole year as Defence professor, and even if their only other worthwhile professor had been Lupin, they ought to have learned a thing or two about caution. With a suppressed sigh, he remembered Mad Eye Moody and the demands for 'constant vigilance'. However uncouth and unrefined, the man had had the right idea.

Moving silently himself, Severus crept near enough to spot the trio. They were painfully obvious, standing out amid the black trees and white snow in Muggle attire in bright, gaudy colours. Even the know-it-all Granger girl was wearing jeans and something pink. _Fools_, rose the insult to Severus' mind. He was tempted to shout it, but settled for making them startle by emerging from the trees just feet away from them.

"Lumo --" started Granger, but Potter was quicker.

"Expel --"

"Expelliarmus," Severus said, almost casually, and Potter's wand sailed out of his hand. "You'll remember I taught you that spell," he added, catching the wand nimbly and striding out with his own upraised. "Yours too," he added, after concentrating on the same spell unspoken and delivering Granger and Weasley's wands from their hands. "You'll have no need for these at the present."

Hermione slapped her palm against her cheek, looking pained. "I told you," she moaned, frightened, gaping from him to Ron and back. "I said it was a trap."

Potter failed to be subdued, even without his wand. He took several quick steps in Severus' direction, his hands balled into fists. The look on his face had changed from shock to fury; he sneered in a reasonable imitation of Snape himself, cold and utterly in control. Even defenceless he did not appear afraid, and though Severus had no concerns about being able to quell a potential uprising from his least favourite former student, the change in Potter's personality sent a shiver through him. He had seen green eyes flashing in hatred before, and for a second was rooted to the spot.

"You traitor!" Potter shouted, his voice echoing through the wood. The call sent a number of nocturnal birds aflutter and they took flight on beating wings to escape the uproar. "You killed Dumbledore!"

Even in his haste to help them escape quickly, Severus found the time to pause and cock his head in the young man's direction. He spoke slowly, the words escaping his lips like poured molasses. "You know nothing," he intoned. Gritting his teeth, he remembered the old man's last pleading look. How humbled Dumbledore had been that night, how desperate. The great and mighty wizard had even resorted to begging, though Severus knew, as Harry did not, that he had been begging for a swift end to his life, not mercy. The scene flooded back to Severus, striking in its intensity. He recalled Draco's pallor and the way the boy had trembled and backed down. He remembered Dumbledore's curving arc from the window, the way gravity had seemed suspended for the scarcest moment, and then the body had fallen like dead weight, just as guilt and self-contempt had befallen Severus, despite the promises he had made. He remembered Potter tearing after him, screaming insults. _Coward_, that had been his chosen word. He should have expected it. James had employed it too, apparently failing to notice every fight was four to one, and Severus won his fair share.

"We know enough," bellowed Ron Weasley as he stood clumsily at Harry's side, burying his hands in his pockets. He looked just as defiant as he had in the classroom and the hallways, as if they were all playing some childish game and the worst punishment a Death Eater could met out was a week of detention. "Harry told us!"

Shaking his head at the display of naivety, Severus turned to the girl. Unlike Potter and Weasley, she was not mouthing accusations, nor was she glaring at him as if hoping looks would kill. In fact, she was not even looking at him. Her gaze was concentrated on something over his shoulder, as if he was only mildly interesting and, in fact, getting in the way. "Well?" he demanded of her anyway, as if Granger had ever opened her mouth to insult a professor. The next moment, something struck him, hard, in the back of his head.

"Granger --"

"Harry, Ron, your wands!" the girl screamed abruptly, and Severus cursed himself. Of course, it would only suit that the brightest witch Hogwarts had offered up in the past century had mastered wandless, wordless magic despite leaving before her magical education was complete. Even as he cupped his hand around his head, feeling the sudden wet heat of blood pouring through his fingers, Granger had her wand in a tight grip and was firing at him. Hers, luckily, were only mild spells; despite their enmity and the fact that she believed him a Death Eater through and through, she was using stinging hexes and blocking techniques rather than anything designed to kill or seriously impede him. He blocked her easily. Hermione was a skilled witch, but she was young, and inexperienced at duelling. Compared to her, Severus was greased lightning, but it had been a long time since he had battled three on one, and even in his most serious altercations with Black and Potter, they had never used killing curses.

"Avada Kedavra!" screamed Potter, sounding like a mad thing.

Severus sidestepped the blast of green light, but it was too close for comfort. He turned on the spot, deflecting a second burning curse from Granger and blocking Potter's next attempt to murder him. And Weasley, he reminded himself, darting in time to avoid what looked like an attempt to disarm him.

"No, Harry," called out Hermione as a third Avada Kedavra roared past Severus' head, missing by an inch. "We can't kill him --"

"What do you think he wants to do to us?" Potter shouted, enraged. "Same as he did to Dumbledore, that's what!" He fired several more curses, screaming the incantation as if the force of his voice would help the deadly spell find its target with more ease. "He's obviously sent here to murder us, the same way he killed my parents!"

Disarming Weasley was simple. The boy did not even seem surprised when his wand flew from his grasp a second time. Potter, however, seemed even more incensed by this and renewed his attacks, his clumsy casting made up by the frequency of his spells, which he fired one after another without even looking to see if they had connected. "You murdered my mother and father," he shouted, running at Severus.

Were they in the cold stone room that had once made up his office, Severus might have eyed Harry disdainfully as if he were an exploded cauldron or a handful of dead spiders. He would have silenced Harry with a lazy, dismissive gesture. Here, in the forest, there was no time for such elegance. Anger burned in Severus' chest as well.

"I never wanted Lily to die --"

"Liar!"

"You're just as foolish as your father," Severus spoke. Mentally, he went for Granger and was momentarily impressed to find a bit of resistance - the girl had taught herself a bit Occlumency, probably from a book. He was able to break through, of course, and once he had penetrated her mind, Hermione was sent reeling through a sequence of painful memories. Severus glimpsed the girl at six, being teased about her bushy hair and awkward teeth; at her ninth birthday party, crying over the pages someone cruel had ripped from her new copy of _"Anne of Green Gables"; _covered in fur at twelve and dying of shame; crying again at a dance a couple years later, scorned by -- _what's that, Weasley? _-- a boy. Through her eyes he even saw himself, a far more towering and impressive figure than he had ever known he could cut, standing over her in an intimidating position and launching into some tirade against her as a know-it-all. _So that had stung, had it?_ He had not even known that he had made an impression, but there he was, a dozen times more, growing less towering as she had grown taller, but remaining just as frightening, delivering an incessant belligerent commentary that she had taken to heart. And she had defended him, he noticed, probing her mind further. _How interesting_, he thought, exploring as he continued shouting at Potter. "Unwilling to listen to anyone, unable to accept that things aren't always what they seem. He ended up dead because he was too ignorant to question his assumptions, Potter, and you'll go the same way if you insist on being stupid."

He had broken Granger down. She knelt on the forest floor, visions of shattering crystal prophecies and Sirius Black's last fall through the veil going through her mind again and again. She scarcely seemed to notice her wand wrenching free of her fingers and flying to Severus. Meanwhile, Harry had redoubled his efforts. Severus blocked curse after curse.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Potter shouted. "If I was dead!"

_I never wanted you to be born_, Severus thought viciously. He had cried, his arms wrapped around his body like a child himself, when he had heard the news that Lily Evans had given birth to James Potter's son. It had been the last straw, the final proof that Lily wasn't simply going to wake up one day and realise she belonged with him instead of Potter. Instead of answering immediately, Severus disarmed him.

"NO!"

Unable to accept defeat, Harry ran towards Severus as fast as he could, ploughing into him with the force of a train at full speed. His fist, bludger-like, hit Severus in the eye, but that was all the damage he was able to do before Severus' boot connected with his stomach, sprawling him backwards onto the ground.

Still not submissive, Harry spat onto the grass. He struggled to rise, but Severus' restraining spell had already worked its magic, and he was unable to stand. "Fight me fair, you coward!" Harry snapped, full of ire.

"I've already fought the three of you in a duel, and bested you," Severus explained without satisfaction. Harry's anger had fuelled power to his curses but had lessened his aim, and in any case, they were children. "Now, you will listen to me." He turned towards Granger and Weasley and stabbed his finger at Harry, indicating they should join their friend. Ron hurried to Harry's side, but Hermione walked slowly, like someone on their way to the guillotine.

"Are you going to kill us now?" she asked.

Narrowing his eyes, Severus shook his head. "If I'd wanted you dead, you three would be dead already. Unlike some," his eyes flicked over Harry, "I don't have to shout or point a wand to effect a killing curse."

"Then what do you want?"

"Don't you know, Hermione?" said Harry, breathing raggedly. "He's going to bring us to Voldemort! He probably expects some big reward, for such loyal service." His contempt was palpable.

Neither Hermione nor Severus paid Harry much attention. The girl raised her head; Severus was almost surprised that she didn't raise her hand too, like she had in class, and wave it about to get his attention. "What did you do with Remus? Did he get away?"

"Lupin was captured months ago. He sent you that message under duress; he was threatened with the death of Ginny Weasley if he failed to do so. I believe he included some phrase within, to alert you to the fact that it was not to be trusted?" He acknowledged Hermione's nod. "Of course, why should the famous Harry Potter listen to a mere witch? She might have saved your life a dozen times," he snapped, turning to Harry with a look of fierce contempt, "but when it comes down to it, you prefer to blunder forth without a thought in your head, isn't that so?" Severus restrained himself from kicking Harry again, but with difficultly. "Lupin is reasonably safe," he added, for Granger's benefit. "He's cooperative, as is the girl. Now," he went on, "you haven't much time. Get out of this forest."

Harry felt himself suddenly free of his bonds, and staggered to his feet. "But --"

Severus' eyes flashed in the gloom. "I said," he went on, pressing his hand to Harry's chest and shoving him, hard, so that the boy had to stagger backwards a few steps as not to fall, "go. Lupin will not communicate with you again, at least not of his initiative, nor will your sister," he added, looking at Ron. "Trust no one else." He heard, in the distance, a sudden windy sound like the breeze ruffling the trees, and knew a Death Eater had Apparated into the forest a mile or so away.

"If we need --" tried Hermione, but Severus pressed his hand over her mouth, hard, to silence her. He stared at her, pointedly, and she stared back, a brief exchange in Legilimency. Then she nodded. Severus glanced over his shoulder to gauge the progress of the Death Eaters. He heard several more sounds, in the distance; a team had been sent. When he turned back towards the trio, no one was there.


	15. Prélude

Author's Note: I am SO sorry to have been away for so long and not updated. Family health probs and all that, as some of you already know. Anyway, here is the next chapter and the second piece of this will be up quite soon as well. Take care!

Chapter Note: Just to be strange, this chapter is actually presented in two parts. I tried putting it all together, but it just got cluttered, so look at this as the lead in to the next, ok?

_..._

_**Prélude**_

_I am looking for an inspiration_

_And I think I found it in your heart_

_It's the kind of thing you get when you're not looking_

_It's the kind of thing you had from the start _- VAST _"Please Don't Take Your Love Away"_

_--_

"You saw him?" Her eyes questioning, longish locks of red falling across her face. She had been plaiting her hair when he had come in, finally, rain-soaked and mud-strewn, his clothes damp and plastered to his skin, his own hair dripping sodden drops onto his shoulders and the carpet. Perched, on the edge of the settee in a white dressing gown he had managed to find among Narcissa's old things, her freckled face a picture of shock. "My brother," Ginny repeated, her voice breathless. A thready pulse beat in the depths of her blue veins. "Ron," she clarified, as though Severus did not know. "You saw Ron?"

Severus nodded slowly, leaning one hand against the wall for balance as he unlaced his boots with the other. He kicked one off, relieved to be free from it's mud-soaked, squelching hold.

It had begun to rain almost immediately after he had separated from the trio -- _the little miscreants_, the voice in his head murmured with disgust, and he felt a curious nostalgia for the order and routine of his teaching post, where his main concerns in regards to Potter and company had been how to best detract a significant number of points at each classroom session, and how best to avoid the arrogant lad so as not to give in to the overwhelming temptation to wring his scrawny neck. _Though Potter_, Severus mused, _is not so scrawny anymore_. Far from endearing him to Severus, however, Harry's maturing physique served no better purpose than to remind Severus uncomfortably of the way James had looked, once upon a time.

Impatient, Ginny raked a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes. "You did see him, didn't you?"

"Yes," Severus agreed, peeling off a grimy sock and discarding it atop the abandoned boots. He wanted a bath. The storm had come fast and hard through the Forest of Dean, working the hard-packed earth of the trails into a lake of mud. Blue streaks of lightning had lit his way, but they created scarcely enough light to see by, considering the torrent of rain that had fallen, all at once, as if some great heavenly dam had burst. The winding creeks had flooded, sending their meagre contents gushing out onto the banks, and Severus, who had not dared Disapparate until he had covered some ground on foot, had been forced to slog through it all without even light from his wand, which he had been loathe to use lest anyone notice a stray light in the trees.

Cocking her head, Ginny tapped her fingertips against her thigh uneasily. "Well?"

Raising his head, Severus regarded her blankly. "Well, what?"

Jumping to her feet, Ginny mustered all of her focus and her anger, glaring up at Severus. "How were they?"

"Alive," he commented dismissively, waving his wand apathetically over his feet to cleanse them. Carelessly, he shrugged off his cloak, impatient to be rid of the cloying smell of wet wool and the fabric's heavy weight upon his shoulders. It fell to his feet as he shook his head, freeing his hair of the worst of the remaining water. Remus Lupin would have compared the gesture to Sirius Black's canine habits; a comparison Severus would not have appreciated, nor contested. Weakly, he rubbed a hand across his mouth, thinking of Remus in his cell across the hall. The other man's taste was still thick in his mouth.

"So help me," spoke Ginny, radiating youthful fury. She glared insolently at him, an expression she never would have dared to give him when he had served as her Potions master. At least, she would never have attempted to look at him like that to his face. "If you don't tell me about my brother --"

Sitting down heavily on the bed, Severus raised an eyebrow. "I've already told you, he's alive. What more do you hope to know?"

"Harry and Hermione -- they were with him?"

Nodding, Severus sighed. "I've told you all this."

"No, you haven't. You said 'they'. For all I know, you might have been referring to somebody else," Ginny said. Her cheeks coloured. "There wasn't anyone else, was there?"

"No."

A small bit of energy seemed to leave Ginny's body, but she stayed where she was, standing, rather than sitting down. Wanly, she bit her lip. "I didn't suppose there would be, but I hoped."

Severus studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowed. "Whom were you expecting?"

"Nobody, particularly. Just --" Ginny wavered a moment, torn between allegiance and the promise of a listening ear. She had sworn never to reveal the names of the other members of Dumbledore's Army, but times had changed. Dumbledore's Army was no more, and she supposed Hermione's old curse no longer held. Anyway, things were different now from what they had been, during those easy, carefree days when her biggest problem had been Dolores Umbridge. Severus -- and he was rapidly becoming Severus to her, not Professor Snape; how could she think of him that way after what he'd done to her? -- was no longer the enemy, no longer a cruel Potions master haunting the basement classroom, nor a sulking, solitary figure prowling the halls. He was -- _well, I don't know_, Ginny thought. He was no longer a teacher, no longer her enemy, but they could hardly be termed friends, although they had managed a civil relationship for several weeks.

"I was hoping they might have contacted some other members of the D.A. You know, Dumbledore's Army." Waiting for that to sink in, Ginny found herself remembering the secret room, hidden deep within Hogwarts and never the same way twice, where she had perfected her block, learned the Patronus charm and demonstrated a well-practised Bat Bogey hex to much acclaim. The ache that the memory created was painful, but almost pleasant. She wanted it to hurt; better to hurt than forget.

As Ginny had expected, she had Severus' full attention. He raised his head, pausing in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. "You were in Dumbledore's Army?"

Lifting her chin defiantly, Ginny nodded, eyes bright. "You bet I was. Did you think Harry could start a club like that and not have me in it?" It was the first time she had ever mentioned that old crush on Harry to Severus, or to anyone really. Although her behaviour had made it obvious, she had been too embarrassed by her preoccupation with him to disclose the truth to anyone, even her mother, though Molly -- Ginny winced, remembering -- had guessed correctly and for a long time after delighted in the knowledge.

"Did you -- enjoy it?"

"Most of it," Ginny answered fairly. "Harry had a knack for teaching. It might surprise you," she added a bit forcefully as Severus scoffed, "but he was quite good. Firm, but patient. He was so excited, so into it. The enthusiasm was infectious."

"I see." Severus' voice was clipped. "And you made friends there, did you?"

Ginny nodded, though she bit her lip, harder this time. The memories of the people she had loved at school, her fellow students and friends, stung. Most of them were dead, she knew, or missing and presumed dead. A terrible few had switched sides, given into the temptation to take full advantage of their blood status in order to stay alive. She supposed she could not blame them, though she despised them; cowards, killing their peers and former friends in order to spare themselves. Only a few faces remained for which she had no answers. "A few," she answered, her voice far off. "Luna, mostly."

"Lovegood. Ravenclaw." Severus sounded like a bored bureaucrat, reciting in a monotone. "Fair at Potions but far too flighty. Not a typical Ravenclaw at all, much too dreamy and disorganized." He stared at Ginny. "Who else?"

"Are you going to report their names to the Death Eaters?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Severus copied the gesture, and she sighed. "I don't suppose you would hesitate, if it would save you in the end, am I right?" Without waiting for an answer, she licked her lips. "Neville Longbottom. I know you hated him, but --"

Holding up a hand to stop her, Severus shook his head. "_Longbottom?_ In Potter's army?"

"_Dumbledore's_ Army," Ginny emphasized. "And yes, he was. I know what you're thinking," she added. "He was actually quite good. All he needed was for someone to believe in him. We supported him, all of us, but especially me and Luna." She frowned, fingers toying with the lace hem of her dressing gown. "I don't suppose you know, or have heard anything, about him? Either of them?"

"Not a word," Severus said.

Ginny hovered between belief and disbelief. "You didn't -- you didn't kill --"

"We will never make satisfactory progress if you cannot trust anything I say to you," Severus snapped with more force than he intended. "No, I did not kill Luna Lovegood or Neville Longbottom, though believe you me, if I had known things would turn out like this, I would have gladly taken the pleasure. You," he added, as Ginny gaped, "have never had to endure the torment of attempting to force the minute and delicate details of brewing into Longbottom's head, so you'll spare me your indignant attitude."

"Fine," Ginny answered, crossing her arms. "Now, about Ron --"

"What is it now?" Severus asked with a hint of impatience.

Shaking her head, Ginny fumed. "Do you honestly have no feelings at all? I'm wondering about my brother - the last member of my family left alive, you do realise," she added, sniffing. Tears stung, but did not fall. "Merlin," she muttered, more to herself than to him, although they both knew he was the subject of her diatribe. "You cruel, selfish --"

"-- big nose, greasy git, arrogant fucking bastard," Severus finished up for her, his voice sarcastic. "Does that about cover it?" He sneered, his fingers shoving his hair roughly out of his eyes. It fell back into place a second later, creating shadows that made his irises glitter. "As for your brother, he seems in reasonable health, though I cannot imagine how he managed to stay that way for so long. Perhaps the Muggle concept of guardian angels is right, though I find it significantly more plausible that Miss Granger has done her best to save both his neck and Potter's. No visible wounds on any of them, and they didn't mention anything about having been attacked. Apparently, they had somewhere safe to go, and they went, before the Death Eaters found them. I do believe, however, that he is going to face a rather serious verbal reaming from Miss Granger, for his abject stupidity in charging blindly into the forest in a whim, and for being so impeccably gullible that he could very well have gotten the three of them killed. Luckily, I administered a rather severe warning about allies and --" He broke off abruptly, studying Ginny, who was glaring at him rather ferociously, and also looking like she was going to cry. "He's fine. They're all fine. Granger, at least, has a sensible head on her shoulders, which may see them through."

She did cry then, the hot tears spilling down her cheeks and wetting the dressing gown. With an audible sigh, Ginny buried her face in her hands, not sure whether she was crying from fear or relief. Probably, she decided, a combination of both. For the first time in a while, Ginny allowed herself to picture Ron's face. She could practically see him there before her, his red hair grown long over the collar of a maroon Chudley Cannons jersey, his brown eyes cheery and his lips spread into a careless grin. She could picture Harry too: not as tall as Ron but somehow more real, his own expression amused but underneath, a certain seriousness or sense of purpose. His eyes, she imagined, would not display mere joy but determination, urgency. Thinking of them both, Ginny covered her face.

"Are you --?" Severus began, then paused, not wanting to sound trite. It was obvious that the girl was not fine, and Severus found himself uncomfortable, almost made squeamish by the sound of her muffled sobs and the visible tears. Cautiously, he explored his mind for something he might say to distract her, but there did not seem to be any correct words. Instead of talking, he rose and crossed the room, going to her. A part of him wondered what it might be like to embrace her, to hold her even, but he had never been the sort who felt comfortable administering affection, and so he settled for catching hold of her elbow and pulling her slightly towards the bed. "Here," he advised, as Ginny looked at him. Her watery eyes made him uncomfortable, but it was not just the tears that disturbed him but the force of emotion behind them. "Sit down before you fall down."

Nodding, Ginny sat down on the bed beside him. The blankets were cotton, but she could feel the gentle slip of silk beneath them, and thought of silk sheets. Severus' bed, the mattress of soft down; the bedroom's singular indulgence. He did not seem to have many vanities, or desires. Books, maybe; Severus owned more than any collector Ginny knew of, and had more crammed into his small house than were in the largest bookshop she had ever seen. None of them, however, were pristine, and it seemed they were completely unorganized, strewn haphazard across the many shelves or stacked in teetering piles upon his desk. Most Death Eaters, from what Ginny had seen, surrounded themselves with things; tokens of their power, items that they hoped would grant them some mystique or allure. Severus had none, save the books, and even they did not seem to fit, being that they were dog-eared and ragged, not trophies. Then again, he was not a typical Death Eater, and she doubted he ever had been.

Staring down at her hands in her lap, Ginny sighed. "I just --" she tried, but her voice cracked. "I haven't seen --" she started again, but for the second time, her voice failed her. It felt like she was being strangled. Her throat felt hoarse, as if it held bottled up screams that were fighting to escape. She thought it might. "Ron, and Hermione," she breathed, shaking her head and trying to communicate her mourning, her longing for the comfort of her friends. "And Harry --"

Saying his name unlocked another flood of tears, and Ginny bowed her head, letting them spill. She did not cover her face, but she did not lift her head either. The raw emotion left her feeling strangely sensitive, as if she could feel - even be hurt by - the slightest breeze, the softest sound. She felt the bed shift slightly beneath her, like a boat rocking gently on a calm sea, and then she felt fingertips stroking her cheek. Severus' gesture was almost timid, like he was afraid she would break, but he managed to tilt her chin, to force her to look at him.

Severus' eyes were very black, and very deep. When she had been a student, Ginny had never paid enough attention to notice anything but malice in those dark eyes. She had never seen anything more relevant in the Potions master; he was simply one of those unfathomable things to be avoided, like the depths of the Forbidden Forest, or the tricky staircase with its vanishing step. When he had delivered his lectures in class, his eyes had seemed devoid of all substance and soul; blank, like those of a shark, his eyes had scanned the room for troublemakers, and even when they failed to present themselves he always found them out. Now, though, she could read so much in his irises that she felt curiously nervous. Severus looked sad, terribly sad, almost forlorn. He looked tired, and though she knew he slept light and often prowled about in the wee hours, those habits to not completely explain his weariness. Above all, he looked needy, full of want, his eyes ablaze with mysterious desire.

End of Part One


	16. Juste Une Raison

Note: Beware the sexuality, if that sort of thing offends you. It's a rather sex-laden chapter. :)

--

**Juste Une Raison**

--

He had kissed her before, but this time was different. This time, Ginny kissed back.

Severus closed his eyes, feeling the warm rush of her breath against his skin, the gentle tickle of her tongue as she trailed it along his bottom lip. This last startled him slightly, and he moaned softly into Ginny's mouth as he claimed her lips again, kissing her with significantly more force. Confusion ruled his thoughts; conflicts voiced themselves and fell silent, then rose to protest again. He knew he ought to feel guilty, and he did. He had no right to touch her. Even more bewildering was the onslaught of emotion. Severus had no idea where the feelings had come from. He only knew that meeting Ginny's gaze had pried open some deep well of emotion and set loose feelings he could scarcely name, let alone control. He shivered, feeling Ginny's fingers cascade down his cheek, and thought with overwhelming certainty that he cared about her, and he didn't know how to stop it. It was frightening, but not so scary as the concept of letting go, so he continued to kiss Ginny, long and hard for a few moments more, until she finally drew back, panting for breath.

Severus felt himself shiver as she willingly parted her lips for him a second time, allowing him access, and something very close to arousal stirred in his belly when she slid her tongue into his mouth, tasting him.

Ginny's eyes were closed, her brow smooth, and Severus found himself left with the curious desire to grin, an expression so foreign to him that he was not entirely sure his facial muscles would know how to accomplish it. He did not grin, but nor did he smirk, as he was normally wont to do when he took pleasure in something. Instead, he managed a faint, but very tender smile.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching out to stroke Ginny's hair. He found himself comforted by the smoothness of her hair and the scent of her skin, which was vaguely warm and sweet, like vanilla or honey. "Are you -- is this --?"

"Yes," Ginny asked, her breath hot against the side of Severus's face. It was an odd angle from which to be staring up at the face of one's professor, but Ginny dismissed the thought without consideration. Whatever Severus was, he was Potions master no more. She searched his face, wanting to identify a fundamental difference between the stern, callous man who had instructed her and her peers in that icy dungeon, and the man who gingerly touched her face as if afraid she might break, but it was still Severus, still Snape, even when he bent to kiss her again. "It's fine," she assured him, her voice a whisper to match his own.

Ginny could still remember the very first night she had spent with him alone, the night immediately following what she alternately thought of as assault and bargaining. The spell of stoicism had broken when the potion he had slipped her faded from her bloodstream, and she had cried and raged against him, screaming vile insults and striking him across the face repeatedly. Severus had simply taken it, and that been her first glimpse of real him, the actual Severus who lived behind the mask and the false promises and the cold silk voice.

His guilt had been painfully evident. She had not wanted to see it or be forced to consider what it might mean. What he had done to her, in that room filled with greedy-eyed Voldemort disciples, had been the last inevitable proof that it was not all a dream. Up until that point, Ginny had harboured secret illusions of waking up safe and sound in the Burrow, or of reuniting with her parents and brothers when the war was won. No one had shown her any bodies, after all, and it was all too easy to believe that her family was really out there somewhere, rallying for an offensive strike, preparing to rescue her. She had clung to the belief that she and Remus were getting out soon, and that they might return to Hogwarts, where he might resume his professorship and she could live the normal life of a sixth year student. Then, all the illusions had come crashing down, exposing her to the reality of her situation. The ache of her body and the blood on her legs, the scent of Severus that had clung to her skin for days; those things had been irrefutable proof that there was no going back.

She had wanted to vent her rage on Severus, and she had, but it had been unsatisfactory. She had wanted him to be cruel and cold, so that she might hate and blame him. Instead, he had fallen onto the floor at her feet and begged forgiveness. His confessions had sounded hollow; he had wanted to be tormented, to be hit and accused and despised. Ginny had learned something about the depths of his guilt that night and -- though she had quickly shoved the thought from her conscious mind -- she had found herself connected to him by the strangest of experiences. That had been, perhaps, the start, setting into motion her free-fall into confusing feelings towards him, which she could not so easily explain away.

"You're certain?" Severus asked, slightly nervous as he studied her, searching for clues that would prove his unworthiness. He swallowed, raising an eyebrow, and marvelled at the fact that Ginny did not flinch when he ran his fingertips down her cheek, enjoying the feel of her skin.

Ginny nodded, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Yes," she assured him, and watched as he half-closed his eyes when she reached out and touched his hair. Severus was, obviously, seldom the recipient of touch, and though she might once have sworn vehemently that no one in their right mind would want to lay a finger on him, she was no longer sure why. He was by no means dashing, though his features were reasonably attractive; his eyes especially caught her attention whenever he looked her way. His black hair was longish, tousled; not at all like what she remembered of Sirius' sleek locks as he had worn them the months before he died, but not bad, certainly not as chaotic as Harry's messy mop. She supposed it was the way he held himself, so rigid, and his expressions, which were often severe. People were naturally reticent in his company, and she had seen even the boasting Death Eaters turn silent and cowardly as he passed, daring to resent him openly, but not to challenge him.

Severus' brow knitted as he looked her over. "I don't understand," he mused, jaw set, though he shivered again, closing his eyes to relish the pleasure as Ginny stroked his hair and kissed the side of his face. "You should despise me."

"Why?"

"For what I've done. For what I'm doing," he corrected himself, catching hold of Ginny's hand as she continued to touch his hair. "No, don't," he instructed her, shaking his head. The weight on his chest was heavy, and he remembered, again, that he had no right to be with her. Somehow, he had earned her trust, but he was certain the method had not been fair; he must have tricked her, or perhaps, in her loneliness and desperation, she had given in to the pressing need to seek solace with somebody, anybody, and had seen fit to lavish the unspent affection on him.

Ginny frowned, feeling sad. It was there again, the guilt hovering between them, and she wondered if he would ever be able to look her way and see a person, not the scene of his crimes. "Why not?"

"How can you just forgive me?" Severus demanded, his tone challenging.

"Why shouldn't I?" Ginny asked, deliberately provocative. A smile played on the corners of her mouth, but it faded when she saw the self-contempt in his eyes, and the pain. "Severus," she spoke, confused as to why speaking his name made her feel laden with sudden maturity. "You did what you had to do. Isn't that what you've told me all along? The Death Eaters had to think that you -- that you wanted me." Her voice faltered and Ginny frowned, recognizing Severus' reaction. "And you did," she added, confirming it to herself. "Is that why you feel so guilty?"

Steely, Severus let his hair fall over his eyes. He did not want to look at Ginny, or rather, he did not want her to see him. He felt beneath her, and filthy. "Of course I feel guilty," he snapped. "I had no right to touch you. I shouldn't be anywhere near you now." Glaring, he dared her to contradict him.

"You're right, it was bad," Ginny agreed mildly, putting up no fight. She felt Severus pull away from her as she reached out again and touched his face, but although he withdrew slightly, he did not push her hand away, and she reached out and touched him again, softly. "I hated what you did. I think I may have hated you for it, for a few days." She forced herself not to disclose more: that first night, sitting in the bathtub in which Severus had left her, eyeing his shaving razor on the sink, she had thought for the first and last time about truly ending it all. He did not need to know. It would do neither of them any good for her to remember. "It was a terrible thing, and I wish it hadn't happened, but I also know you were right. They wouldn't have freed me without it. They would have killed me, probably Greyback would have, and that would be the end. So, you did what you had to do."

It was as if he had not heard her. Severus bared his teeth like he was preparing to duel a competitor. "You don't understand._I enjoyed it_." He met Ginny's eyes, terrified of her knowing that truth and yet desperate for her to understand how terrible he truly was. He had been finished with lies long ago, though, he reflected, the net of deceit had only tightened despite his resolutions. It was what he had to endure to survive, but he was not going to claim innocence or heroism in order to win the adoration of anyone, least of all a former student. "I wanted you," he added, voicing it. _And I felt something for you, but I did it anyway, which makes it even worse,_ he thought, but could not manage to speak aloud. It had been too many years since he had last made any declaration of romantic sentiment; he was not even certain how one might phrase such feelings. "A part of me liked it."

If she flinched, it was only a little. Calmly, she held his gaze. "And?"

Angrily, Severus shook his head. "And you should hate me," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You should want me dead."

"Well, I don't. Look," Ginny added, seeing the pain on Severus' face. "I'm not angry about that anymore."

"You should be."

"But I'm not. Anyway, even if I was, what could I do about it? It's the past. But in any case, I'm not upset anymore. You've apologised, many times. I believe you. So, now that we have that settled, are you going to kiss me, or not?" Ginny could not help but smile at the startled expression on Severus' face. He seemed to be battling himself, unable to determine if she was being honest or deceitful. "Well?" Ginny prodded, but before she could speak the entire word, she was flat on her back on the mattress, and Severus was above her, kissing her hungrily, his need almost tangible and expressed through every pore.

Pleased, Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back, though she could not match the dominating force Severus displayed. Shaking with abrupt desire, she wrapped her legs around his waist, impatiently pulling him against her. Severus' hands found her dressing gown and wrenched at the fabric, pulling the garment loose from her waist and shoulders, so that she was left with just her knickers.

"Are you sure about this?" Severus began, but Ginny hooked her hands into claws and drew her nails down his back, leaving thin welts under his shirt and making his entire body prickle with the agony of desire. He shook, overcome with the sensation.

"If you dare ask me that one more time," Ginny threatened vaguely, and was pleased to be interrupted by Severus, who thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her so hard she was sure she had been bruised. The thought did not bother her, but merely sent a shiver of warmth through her body. "These," she added, when she could finally speak, and her fingers trailed along the waist of Severus' trousers. "Off."

In answer, Severus bared his teeth once more, but this time he settled his teeth against Ginny's neck. He could feel the stubborn pressure of her pulse through her jugular vein, so close to the surface, and he bit, not too hard but definitely hard enough, and wordlessly rejoiced at the way Ginny's legs tensed around him, and at the rush of breath he heard escaping her mouth as she moaned. With one hand, he propped himself up, while the other hand unfastened his trousers. He made fairly short work of kicking them aside, eager to turn his attention back to Ginny.

She supposed she ought to feel uncomfortable, perhaps even scared, but Ginny found herself feeling anything but frightened as Severus caught her hands and guided them up over her head. They had been in this position before, but it seemed like not only another time and place, but a whole different lifetime. Instead of cowering, Ginny slid her bare thighs along Severus' sides, then wrapped her legs around him again, shaking a little not from fear or cold, but from the subtle stirring of his body against hers. She could feel Severus growing hard against her belly, but rather than fright, the thought of what he would do next simply filled her with anticipation. _We_, Ginny reminded herself, feeling the clasp of Severus' hands over hers. _What we will do_. And with that, she felt him release her left hand just for a second, as long as it took for him to rip away her damp knickers. Then he caught her hand again, and held on tight as he entered her.

Smoke and pheromones, the crush of his body upon hers. Severus closed his eyes, letting himself savour the sensation of entering her body. He had expected to feel guilt, perhaps even overpowering shame, but nothing except a slight residue of remorse remained to haunt him, for which he was profoundly grateful. It was not simple lust that stirred him either, although he definitely felt the impatience of his own desire. Opening his eyes, he smiled down at Ginny, who smiled back through eyes half-lidded in pleasure, and he knew what that feeling was, even if he would not dare speak of it aloud.

Pressing himself deeper into her body, Severus found himself biting his own lip to keep from crying out from the deliriously wonderful sensation. "Gin --" he murmured against her lips, and was rewarded with a soft whisper of his own name, the rare abbreviation, "Sev", which made him even harder, more overwhelmed. No one called him that anymore, and he had not even realized how badly he had missed it.

Arching her back, Ginny pressed her hips up against him, meeting him on the next thrust. It did not hurt, though she had worried it might. Instead, the friction between them sent shivers up her spine that spoke of anything but pain. Hands grabbing for purchase against him, sliding over his shoulders, she trembled at the tingling sensation of their bodies united. Severus' hair splayed across her face, and she brushed it aside absent-mindedly, caressing his cheek as he dove down to kiss her, his tongue running a ticklish trail across her collarbone before his teeth sought out her neck again, nipping her hard enough so that she bucked beneath him, driving him in deeper. For a moment, she summoned the last of her concentration, applying sparkling effort to her every movement, every gesture. Then, the heights of pleasure swooped and soared, and Ginny lost herself in the rhythmic movements of their bodies, escaping into a mindset where all that mattered was her and him.

...

It was hours later when Ginny stirred. She had fallen asleep after the strenuous efforts the two of them had employed in order to savour every last drop of pleasure; the sex had exhausted her, and she had found a very comfortable angle against Severus' bare chest upon which to rest her head. His arm had encircled her waist and, finally comfortable, she had allowed sleep to steal over her.

Severus smiled gently. It was just the hint of a smile really, but given his reluctance towards showing any affection, the barest curve of his lips could be taken as a sign of sincere contentment and perhaps even joy. Sweaty, his hair lay across his forehead.

"You slept well?"

Ginny nodded, stretching upwards to plant a kiss upon his lips. It no longer felt foreign to touch him; on the contrary, she had noticed the grace of his movements, and found it pleasurable to study him with her hands as well as her gaze. "Yes."

"It's late," Severus commented, the hint of annoyance on his brow. He thought of the troublesome duties that might await him that morning. He had not been summoned, which he sincerely hoped meant no trace of his activities in regards to the trio had been discovered, though he still felt a bit worried that his solitary behaviour and lack of participation might be met with suspicion. However, the absence of any summons or emergency owl also assured him that Potter, Weasley and Granger had made well their escape from the Forest of Dean. Had they been captured, even one of them, it would have caused such a joyous uproar among Voldemort's supporters that even the most fringe loyalists would all have been brought in, the better to watch the interrogation and subsequent torture, and finally the slow death. "Or, rather, early. The sun is about to come up. They might contact me soon."

Looking towards the window, Ginny saw it was so. Greenish pre-dawn light shimmered on the black horizon, creating a silhouette of the imposing Muggle buildings that encircled Severus's home. The old Snape house was located in a cheap, industrial section of town, surrounded by edifices of once productive factories. Now the plants and warehouses stood as crumbling ruins, liberally streaked with rust. She had noticed them the first time Severus had brought her to the house, despite her emotional upheaval. Now, she scarcely paid them any attention, but ran her hand palm-down across Severus' bare stomach, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Does it matter?"

Severus' smile widened a fraction. "Not particularly, unless you actually entertain hopes of surviving this."

"What, captivity? This war? Voldemort?"

"All of it." He stared at her, his eyes full of unanswered questions and, despite the twinges of pleasure that still haunted his body, sorrow.

Ginny propped herself up on her elbow, leaning over to look Severus full in the face. "What are you talking about? Of course we'll survive this. All wars stop someday. Voldemort can't live forever."

"That," Severus spoke warningly, "is not a bet I'd dare place. Immortality has a way of conquering even the best of us. No," he added hastily at Ginny's look of surprise, "he's not truly immortal, despite what the amulet sellers in Knockturn Alley have to say about it. He can be killed, but it's a difficult road, and I have my doubts about whether any of us are strong enough to follow it."

Shrugging, Ginny met his gaze. "Harry is," she said, simply.

Severus' hands involuntarily clenched into fists at the mere mention of the name. He could scarcely help it; even if he wanted to look upon Potter as some sort of saviour or protégée, it was a habit to hate him, ingrained in him too deep to repair. "Potter," he spat, though he managed to keep his vitriol in check, "is a boy. A seventeen year old Hogwarts student with no more training than you have; less, I dare say," he added, thinking of the charms, incantations and protective spells he had drilled into her. "You don't understand," he continued as Ginny opened her mouth to contradict him. "The legends are wrong. The rumours are false. Potter is no hero, no 'Chosen One'. He is simply an orphan boy without the clear-headedness or the training necessary to win a duel among an average fighter, much less Lord Voldemort."

"I don't agree," said Ginny, and butterflies seemed to beat their wings inside her stomach at the idea of what a phrase like that might have cost her as a student. She knew she never would have dared speak to him that way, once upon a time. "You never saw him in Dumbledore's Army, Severus. He -- he knew things. Spells, advanced magic --"

"Taught to him primarily by the adults who took an interest, no doubt. Misguided, foolish people, who invested their hopes and efforts into the fantasy of an adolescent hero to save us all." He raised one eyebrow, daring to be contradicted. "It was Lupin who schooled him in most of that advanced magic, particularly his crowning achievement, the Patronus. It impressed you," he went on, noticing Ginny's sudden stiffness in his arms. "Of course it would. Not your typical magic, the Patronus, not something normally taught to sixth years, which, of course, he was when your Army was founded. Still, nothing any member of the Order can't do, as I'm sure you realise. If only Voldemort could be defeated so easily, we would all be free by now."

Biting her lip, Ginny ignored the deliberate sarcasm that Severus had chosen to employ. "There was more," she added. "Far more. But it doesn't matter how he did it, just that he's escaped from Voldemort in the past, time and time again."

"With help," Severus conceded grudgingly.

"The same help that is with him now," Ginny pointed out. "Hermione, and my brother."

"Lucky coincidences."

"Then perhaps his luck will hold."

"Perhaps," Severus said, his voice steely, "you should learn to accept reality. Potter managed a few escapes, that is all. If you wish to congratulate him on it, that is your choice, but hardly proof that he can actually stage - and successfully complete - an attack upon Voldemort's person." His eyes shone fervently. "There is a big difference between fleeing harm and actually proposing to win in a fight with Lord Voldemort. I know what you wish for, but you must see the folly of it, Ginny. We are not getting out of here alive. You have to face facts."

She continued to meet his gaze, displaying her own determination. "Perhaps we will die. Maybe you'll be found out as a traitor today, or Bellatrix will finally get her way and have me killed. But perhaps not. There is a chance --"

" -- impossibly slim!"

"Yes, but still a chance!" Ginny said more forcefully. "How can you give up so easily?"

Severus' eyes were flinty, full of old anguish. "Is that what you think I've done?"

"Seems like it."

"Then you have no idea." Pained, Severus sat up in the bed, covering his eyes with one hand. He bared his teeth, as if the predatory gesture might keep the hurt at bay. "What can you possibly know of what I've lost?"

Startled by his reaction, Ginny nonetheless placed her hand reassuringly upon his shoulder. "Nothing," she admitted, "if you don't tell me."

Eyes blazing, he turned to look at her. The impact of his emotions hit hard, but Ginny did not pull away from him, nor did he push her away. He spoke slowly, each word wrenched from him. "Everything! I have lost -- everything. My friends. My life. My good name." He blinked, and Ginny was startled to see tears in his eyes. "Lily." Severus shook his head, not wanting to think about her, or relive any old memories. "I have lived for years between two worlds, playing one side against the other, gathering and distributing information and telling so many lies that sometimes, I hardly know what the truth is anymore. I've watched people die, people I knew, cared about, whose blood was on my hands. Now the only person who had complete trust in me all along is dead. Albus Dumbledore," he snapped, vengeful. "Without him, no one knows the truth, and I'll never get my old life back. So do you understand now? I have not surrendered easily; I have simply lost the strength to do anything else."

"If you could find the strength, would you fight?"

"I can see no reason why. What point is there, fighting a losing battle?"

"If there was a chance," Ginny prodded. "Even the slimmest chance? Would you at least try?"

Severus leaned back against the headboard, tired. "I don't know."

Ginny sighed and sat up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. "I would," she decided. "I will," she corrected herself, feeling determination rising from within. "If there is any chance. I have to," she continued, aware that Severus was listening carefully. "I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing to stop this. Voldemort has killed my family, and my friends. I would rather die fighting him than knowing I sat back and did nothing, no matter what he's already taken from me. If I don't, they die for nothing. Besides," she added, her breath billowing against Severus' cheek. "It wouldn't just be about revenge. Harry, Hermione and Ron are out there. I'd fight for them, and for Remus -- and for you."

A jolt went through Severus' body at the words, and when he turned, he noticed the ambition on Ginny's face. "I suppose," he managed carefully, keeping his tone nonchalant, "there is a reason I might be persuaded to fight too, if there was any chance at all we might succeed."


	17. Culbute Vers le Bas

Note: Things are taking longer than expected, for which I'm sorry. And this chapter -- I hoped I managed to convey what I wanted to express…but it's been a difficult week. ;) Just think "mind-games". The pace is quickening soon.

* * *

**Culbute Vers le Bas**

"_No, life has not disappointed me. On the contrary, I find it truer, more desirable and mysterious every year -- ever since the day when the great liberator came to me: the idea that life could be an experiment of the seeker for knowledge -- and not a duty, not a calamity, not trickery_." - Friedrich Nietzsche

...

Her eyes shone, gloomy in the moonlight.

"Lupin," Bellatrix Lestrange pronounced smoothly, taking a singular step and crossing the threshold to the man's place of imprisonment. _It was really not so bad_, she reflected, _for a cell_. Soft bed. Sufficient fireplace. Narcissa's cast-off furniture; still, more elegant than anything she supposed the werewolf had ever enjoyed before, given the reputation such beasts had within the wizarding world. _He ought to be grateful_, she decided, crossing her arms and giving him a sceptical look. _Surely, life within the confines of the manor was providing more steady meals than he'd known in a lifetime_. "Remus Lupin," she spoke again, amusement shadowing her face.

He raised his face, meeting her eyes. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Don't attempt to be clever," she snapped, although she was not angered, despite the challenging expression on Remus' face. "Do you remember third year? Your third year?" she asked, and enjoyed watching a bit of colour leak away from his face, which paled dramatically in response to her comment. "Oh, you do, don't you. Why don't you share?"

Remus did not look away, though he was visibly disturbed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said firmly, and that much was true, though something within his gut seemed to have twisted at her words, a visceral response to the time mentioned.

Bellatrix simpered. "Oh, dear, I think you do." She drew one step closer and watched Remus, who had been lying in bed propped up with pillows and staring aimlessly at the ceiling when she first arrived, sit up a little straighter. His posture was still casual, though he held his shoulders a bit more stiffly than usual.

"Well, I don't." Remus' eyes glittered hostile, seemingly drawing in the silvery light from the jagged crescent of moon outside his window.

"Memory charm," Bellatrix decided, shaking her head slightly. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and she reached out a hand to smooth it, an unconscious act of vanity she had only recently regained. Those drear years in Azkaban had all but stolen her pride from her. Only remnants of her former glory remained, but Bellatrix had crowned herself with them. Impatient though she was for action and revenge, she had spent hours reacquainting herself with the powdery secrets of illusion charms and fairness draughts, each passing hour spent in rebuilding her broken beauty a small step towards regaining the life she had lost. At one time, years before her imprisonment, she had been pretty enough to catch even the most discriminating eye. Now, men still stumbled in their paths when she walked by, and women still held their breath and stared, but it was because of the fear she aroused within them, not passion inspired by her beauty. It was disturbing, but she would make the best of it. She always did.

Remus narrowed his eyes, his thoughts plunging through the faded recollections of yesteryear, towards third year specifically. What had he done at age thirteen? What significance had it held for Bellatrix? All he could remember of himself was a slight teen with honey-coloured hair and an angry red scar across his face, which had refused to fade for an entire year despite liberal applications of healing potions and a few of James' self-invented healing charms, which seemed to have made it worse. Surrounded by books, steeped in their musty smell, still shy enough to flinch away from the sound of even a best friend's laughter, although he had made progress that year, towards reaching out, loving and letting himself be loved. But what, he wondered, did Bellatrix know or care of that? She had not been at school with him; when he had entered third year, she was already preparing to enter into her loveless marriage with Rodolphus Lestrange.

"I have," Remus began defiantly, "absolutely no idea to what you are referring. I've never used a memory charm on anyone, let alone as a third year. We did not even study them in school until fifth year."

"Not _from _you," Bellatrix said softly. She drew a bit closer, near enough so that he could see her smirk, the indication that she enjoyed toying with him. "_On _you."

"There are no memory charms on me," Remus protested. "I'd --"

" -- remember?" Bellatrix laughed. "Of course not. That is the beauty of the charm, isn't it? No troublesome nightmares, no residual guilt, no painful memories. But, of course, such charms can be broken. They rarely are, naturally, because one has to know, or suspect, they are a victim of one before they can summon the concentration to defeat it -- and now you know, don't you? So you can break it."

Remus shook his head. "There is nothing to -" He broke off abruptly, sensing a flicker of something foreign in his mind. Just a ghost image really, colourless and transparent, hovering for just a second at the fore of his thoughts, then fading. Gingerly, Remus touched his temple, slightly unnerved, and the picture came to mind again. It lacked definition and depth, but he could see -- someone. Someone leaning in, ever nearer. Their features were indistinct and unclear, but he knew who it was. He knew, and could not remember. "What is this?" he demanded, glaring at Bellatrix.

"Think," she prompted. "Remember."

"You put a charm on me?" Remus gasped, shocked. "When I was thirteen?"

How she managed an innocent look, neither of them were certain, but Bellatrix merely smiled. "Of course not. My dear cousin did that." She smiled wider, relishing the look of confusion and upset on Remus' face. "Yes, Sirius. I wonder why," she said mockingly. "I wonder why dear Sirius would have done such a thing."

"He couldn't have," Remus answered back, thrusting his fingers harder against his forehead, as if he might block the rising images that way. "Not a third year, not even Sirius --"

"You underestimate my family," Bellatrix decided. "You always have. It is your nature, I suppose, to prefer grovelling to speaking your mind, forgetting to confronting. Only you would ever have looked upon a Black and felt no twinge of doubt about his placement in Gryffindor. Snakes, Lupin," she went on. "Snakes in the grass, that is what we are. Or cuckoos, if you prefer. You know about them, don't you? Brood parasites." She laughed gently. "Sirius Black, in Gryffindor house."

Stony-faced, Remus shook his head defiantly. "I don't know what you're playing at, Bellatrix, but it's not going to work. Sirius was loyal to Gryffindor. It was your family he hated, the Blacks. He did whatever he could to distance himself from your kind."

Instead of lashing out, Bellatrix simply shrugged. "Ah, yes, but ask yourself - did he get far enough away? A man can't change, Lupin. Sirius could no more abandon his nature than you could, or can. You continue to trust all the wrong sort, don't you?"

"I don't trust you," Remus answered back. "I must be doing something right."

"And yet, I'm the one helping you. Oh, make no mistake, I am," she added insistently when Remus cocked an eyebrow, glaring. "Investigate that memory. Find out what Sirius did not want you to remember."

Unbidden, the pictures flashed before Remus' eyes. He clutched his forehead, wondering if he was going mad. A familiar face, so familiar, but the person's name would not rise to the tip of his tongue. Whomever it was, they were leaning in, leaning close, eyes half-lidded and lips faintly puckered, as if preparing to be kissed. And he -- Remus could both see himself as if from above, and see through his own eyes -- he was responding, reaching out to pull the nameless person ever nearer, to embrace them, to plant a kiss on those waiting lips.

"Who?"

"Guess," Bellatrix answered smoothly.

He wanted to guess. As much as he feared the answer, Remus wanted to know. Who was it he had kissed so tentatively, so urgently, as a mere boy of thirteen? The dark hair resembled Sirius', but it wasn't him. Anyway, Sirius never would have wanted him to forget such an encounter, Remus was certain of that much. However, although it was not Sirius, it was someone male. No girl in Remus' experience had such rough, commanding hands, nor such forceful kisses. That did not shock him, but he wrinkled his brow nonetheless. "I don't understand," Remus spoke softly, more to himself than to Bellatrix. "I was shy at thirteen. Even my friends scarcely knew me then. I was too afraid of being rejected for what I was to get involved with someone else, to that extent."

"I think you might find things are very different from what you remember," Bellatrix spoke. Her voice was calm, almost sane. There was no hint of the virulent anger that so often controlled her, not was there the usual mischievous pleasure. "You spoke far more than you remember. You had a multitude of friends -- not so much Sirius and that Potter boy though, I can assure you of that."

"Sirius and James were my only friends," Remus protested, finding it prudent to let Peter's name remain unspoken, though he still remembered the easy companionship he had once found with the boy. They had seemed two of a kind, bit players in James and Sirius' games, eager sidekicks to their leaders' antics. He could remember only a few others: Lily, of course, and a handful of Ravenclaw students who had seemed to enjoy his company on those lonely Saturdays when Sirius and James had proven themselves too rambunctious and earned long detentions that stretched for the entire afternoon.

Bellatrix shook her head slightly. "No."

"Yes," Remus protested, nonplussed at the woman's strange behaviour. He had almost grown used to her erratic actions, the tendency to strike at him and tease and taunt, but this manipulation puzzled him, particularly because he could see no clear reward in it for her. Aside from making him thoroughly confused, Remus doubted there was a greater purpose in her activities. She had just found a new game, he supposed, and took secret pleasure in making him doubt his loyal friends. "How would you know anyway?" he added, feeling slightly childish, but also angry. "You weren't at school with me. You weren't there. I didn't even know who you were then."

Licking her lips, Bellatrix sighed. "My darling cousin suffered pangs of conscience. So unbefitting a Black, wouldn't you agree? He came to me the following year, during the Christmas holidays. I still have no explanation for what might have prompted this curious behaviour. He had no reason to trust me. He had always claimed he hated me, that he considered me the worst of the lot." Bellatrix seemed to glow with pride as she admitted this, as if Sirius had meant it as some sort of compliment. "Perhaps he was simply mad, even then. More likely, there was no one else to tell, who would not judge him. Don't get me wrong, any of the family would have been pleased had he reported the little game. They would have been amused at his antics, befuddling a fellow Gryffindor. No, it was his motivation which would have been in question. That, he entrusted only to me."

As much as he wanted to turn his back on Bellatrix, Remus found his curiosity piqued. He could imagine a young Sirius, awkwardly thirteen -- though, Remus reminded himself, Sirius had never been awkward. "Is that so?"

"It is."

"And his motivation for erasing my memories?" Remus prompted.

"Desire," Bellatrix stated blankly. "He wanted you."

"He had me," Remus answered back. "He had me at hello."

This time, Bellatrix laughed, long and hard as if she had been told a particularly funny joke. "Oh, no, I'm afraid not. You thought very little of Sirius Black the first time you met him. He was haughty, arrogant even. I'm afraid it runs in the family, sometimes. Oh, you warmed up to him eventually, though never to the extent you now believe. There were no Marauders until the middle of third year."

"That's not possible. I remember it. We were friends from the get go," Remus attempted to explain, but even as he did so, the rushing sensation of being kissed flooded through him, and he could see that nameless face again, so near, so familiar, and yet so far away.

"You were not. Don't you listen to what I'm telling you?" For the first time, Bellatrix's temper showed itself. Her eyes flashed angrily. "Don't believe me, then," she hissed. "Look at those memories. Who is it there, with you? Yes, I know," she added as Remus' eyes widened. "I know all about what you see, what you believe you remember. Sirius told me all of it."

Legilimency," Remus gasped, not wanting to believe her. He could picture the other person clearly now; dark hair, dark eyes. It was almost like -- "Severus," Remus spoke suddenly, and the impact was overwhelming. Carried away in the flood of memories, Remus shook his head weakly. "That cannot be possible. I -- we -- we all hated Snape."

Looking like a child at Christmas, Bellatrix smiled widely, savouring her triumph. "You remember."

"No, I don't," Remus protested, shading his eyes with his palm as though the darkness might blot out the memory of himself, kissing Severus Snape. _I never_, he thought weakly, _I couldn't have_. "I hated him," he insisted, trying to gain strength by voicing the belief out loud. "Snivellus," he added, and the cruel taunt rang in his ears, accompanied by Sirius' delighted laughter. He could hear them, the four of them, loudly mocking Snape in the stone hallways, their united voices carrying an ecstatic echo. _My friends_, he thought defiantly, curling his fingers into a fist as if he might better grab hold of the old memories that way. _They were my friends. They always were. It was always the four of us. _

"You do remember," Bellatrix insisted, her eyes sparkling. "How much do you remember? Let's find out. Push aside those false memories -- yes, they are all invented, painted by Sirius' skilful hand. It's the life he wanted you to remember, not the one you actually lived. What's real, Lupin? You know, it's there inside of you, still in your head, waiting to get out."

Remus clawed at his forehead, wanting to stop the rising surge of memories. It was like watching a film, only rolled by at impossibly high speeds, and every scene showed him a life lived side-by-side with the one he remembered, only different. Leaning over Severus' book in Potions -- actually brewing a successful potion; Remus' mind boggled; as far as he remembered, Potions had been his worst subject by far, yet there he was in the memory that seemed to belong to someone else's life, easily pouring in drams of this and pinches of that, grinning at Severus Snape over a sparking cauldron. Side-by-side with friends whose names he could scarcely remember, people he had always assumed he had never been close to; studying with Lily in the library. Only Lily seemed to bridge both worlds. He had liked her before, and he had liked her after. Could it really be Sirius' doing?

"This," Remus said deliberately, each ounce of concentration thoroughly draining, "is false. A lie. I don't remember any of these things. You -- you've done something --"

"Idiot," Bellatrix snapped, and then she did strike him, a smack across the face that sent him reeling. Before he could dart backwards, she reached out, grabbing his collar. "It hurts, doesn't it, to realize what the truth is."

Remus shook his head, refusing to acknowledge her. "None of this is real," he announced, wishing he could make it so. The memories - they were mostly pleasant, much milder than the life he remembered, and yet he felt a strange contentment from within himself, a recollection of joy that had nothing to do with Sirius Black. For once, happiness without Sirius. But that was not possible. "I loved him," Remus moaned, covering his face. "I did. I know I did."

"You did," Bellatrix agreed. "Eventually. Only third year was a lie, and the years before. Not after. Sirius worked his magic."

"He didn't. He wouldn't of. He wasn't like you," Remus told her hatefully, wrenching away from her hold. He drew back his lips, feral, his eyes narrowed and seeking her out like prey. "I don't know why you're doing this."

"To show you, you can't trust anyone. Sirius, well, we all should have known what he was capable of. You remember that yourself, with no need for alterations, I trust. But Severus, Severus too."

In spite of himself, Remus voiced a question. "Did Sirius do this to Severus too?"

"Of course."

"Does he know?"

"Perhaps. Severus is, for his faults, exceptionally strong. His studies have enabled him to look deeper into himself than most would dare. I trust he has noticed some alterations to his memories, somewhere along the line. But, whether he knows consciously or not, he has been fighting it. You may have noticed, even once you were firmly entrenched with Sirius and James - the Marauders - Severus hated you less than the rest. He never made a target of you the way he did of them, the same as you never quite joined in or displayed enthusiasm for tormenting him. He helped you too, I know he did. He claimed he wanted revenge, wanted you alive for that, but he's been helping you all along."

Remus paled, and his fingers inadvertently reached for his lips. Rubbing his mouth, he tried to avoid thinking about the quick kiss Severus had bestowed upon him the last time they had seen one another. "He -- you're saying we cared for each other?"

"Yes. Sirius used to rant at length about it. Something about you attracted him, you see, but you were interested in someone else, and scorned him, the great Sirius Black." Bellatrix scoffed. "You feel it, don't you?" she prompted, eyeing Remus with interest.

Instead of replying, Remus looked away. He did not want to have to investigate the thoughts, but there was no way to escape from the memories. They were locked within him, trapped in his head, and no amount of distance could ever be achieved.

"Why are you telling me this?" Remus asked finally, when he had managed to block the flow of memory. "You're trying to convince me I can trust Severus, is that it? What, will he attempt to persuade me to join up with your lot?"

"Trust Severus!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "Oh no, not that. Furthest thing from it, really. See, I paid a visit to dear Severus last night, at his home in a filthy Muggle village. Of course, he has no idea that I was there, as I did not ring the bell. I chose the more direct route of finding out what is going on; I peered through the windows. You would not believe," she said slowly, drawing it out, "what he's done to that Weasley girl."

As if he had been sucker punched, Remus found himself gasping for breath. His mind reeled. "Ginny?"

"Yes, the blood traitor," Bellatrix said dismissively. "As if what he'd already done wasn't enough. He certainly seems to find her very intriguing." Bellatrix smiled, but the expression froze on her face. "He's up to something, I know it. Do you know anything about that, Lupin?"

"Of course not," Remus answered in a reasonable approximation of honesty. "I haven't seen Severus for days." Again, he touched his mouth, unable to suppress the memory.

"He cannot be trusted, you understand," Bellatrix said. "There is nothing Severus won't do to ensure his own survival. No one he would not hurt, or kill, to get his way. You may find that disturbing, but it is the unvarnished truth. Poor Lupin," she continued. "Everyone you care about seems to prove you wrong in the end. Sirius, Severus --"

Hating her, Remus turned away. "Get out," he said, his voice leaden.

"You can hardly blame me," Bellatrix said, feigning purity. "I'm the one who enlightened you. Whatever you think of me, Lupin, you can be certain of my honesty. I have no desire to hide what I am. I wish," she went on, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I wish you were capable of the same. Lord Voldemort is in need of individuals with your, er, special talents. There is much you could accomplish, if you only gave him your loyalty."

"I'm not like you," Remus said, shaking. "I won't kill people to prove something."

"Ridiculous. Of course you would. What was the precious Order of the Phoenix if not an organization bent on killing those Albus Dumbledore deemed evil?"

"Dumbledore never wanted us to murder anyone," Remus gasped, shaken by the comparison. "It was always only a --"

"-- last resort," Bellatrix supplied. "But you did it, didn't you? I've seen you, in duels. It wasn't tickling hexes you fired in the Department of Mysteries, now was it? You aimed to kill, because the Unforgivable curses are only truly unforgivable when it's the other side using them, now isn't that right?" Panting, Bellatrix shook back her hair, licking her lips. "We're the same way, you know. We only kill those who insist on challenging us."

"Which means all decent people," Remus snapped. "I want no part in that."

"How can you define decent people?" came a reply, but it was not in Bellatrix' voice. Both individuals whirled around, facing the doorway, in which stood a man who was tall and draped in silk. His eyes were like fire opals, flashing and shining as if of their own accord. His skin seemed luminescent, as if lit by some mysterious internal light. His entire body seemed to crackle with subdued electricity, and the scent of power was all around him.

"Well, Remus?" prompted Lord Voldemort smoothly. He glanced over to Bellatrix, who had fallen on her knees before him. Pleased with the display of devotion, he indicated that she was permitted to rise, then turned back to study the man trapped inside the body of a werewolf, or perhaps, as he wished, the wolf trapped inside the body of a man. "Do tell."

Remus' throat had gone dry with fear and shock. He had seen Voldemort before, of course, but the man seldom travelled anywhere alone, and Remus was used to the buffer of the dark wizard's entourage. He sought his voice, and spoke shaky words. "Those who fight against you," he managed. "People who will stand up to your Death Eaters even until their last breath."

If Voldemort was offended by this, he did not show it. "And why do you believe this makes someone good? We all fight, Remus, we simply fight for different things. Those who oppose me are not my enemies; they simply have a different goal in mind. They have controlled the world long enough; all I wish for now is my turn. If I could accomplish this without violence, I would." He managed to appear sincere. "Unfortunately, decent people, as you call them, are reluctant to surrender to a new way of doing things. Only a few brave, progressive souls are prepared for the changes I would like to make." He indicated Bellatrix, who very nearly blushed. "I would like you to be one of them."

"I won't."

"Why?"

"Because," Remus said, then faltered. "Because what you want is wrong."

"Which part?"

"All of it!" Remus felt dizzy, tormented by the unlocked memories from within his own mind, and Voldemort's steady, resonant voice. His thoughts were a chaotic jumble; he could no longer look inside himself and see the answers so clearly. Voldemort's words were wrong, they had to be, but a part of him understood nonetheless. Deep within him, some creature could relate to what the dark wizard spoke of, and howled to escape. "I won't join you," Remus gasped, cringing at a sudden splitting headache. He wondered if Voldemort was applying the Cruciatus curse, and his eyes snapped open, but the man stood before him calm as ever, and Bellatrix' wand was still in her pocket. "I'll never --"

Bellatrix startled, watching as the colour drained from Remus' face. He fell weakly to the floor near her feet, and Bellatrix looked up at her master in confusion.

"I have all I need to know," Voldemort confirmed. "Your suspicions have proven true. Severus Snape is no longer loyal to me, if indeed he ever was." There was anger deep within him, but Voldemort kept fierce control over himself and suppressed it. "No matter," he snapped.

"Did I --" Bellatrix began questioningly, but the Dark Lord nodded, interrupting her.

"I am satisfied," he pronounced, sending Bellatrix into shivers of ecstasy. "Your method of revealing the memory charm created enough emotion to make Lupin unable to control his thoughts. Occlumency was the furthest thing from his mind. He scarcely noticed my presence within his head; he certainly made no move to block me." He eyed Bellatrix, who looked rapturous. "It disturbed him greatly. Up until today, he has looked upon Black with the greatest of fondness, even idealized him. Curious to think your cousin was capable of such deceit. He would have made a wonderful addition to my ranks." Noticing Bellatrix's curious smile, Voldemort frowned. "What?"

"The memory charm is true enough," Bellatrix stated smoothly. "But it wasn't Sirius who did it. He never would have managed; he thought too highly of Remus, and himself. Besides, he wasn't even taught how those charms worked until fifth year. It was me."

Voldemort had enough humanity within himself to look surprised. "You? But why? What did the mundane love interests of a pitiful half-blood Gryffindor third year matter to you, particularly seeing as you were a grown woman by that time?"

"I was young and foolish," Bellatrix announced. "Dear cousin Sirius came to me distraught one Christmas holiday, terribly upset that the one person he felt he might truly be able to love was so thoroughly distracted by someone else. He wanted Remus to care for him instead. I made it happen. Besides," she added carelessly, "it covered up another indiscretion, this time my own."

"You liked your toys even then. Tell me."

"I was bored," Bellatrix acknowledged dismissively. "I'd come to the school personally to deliver Sirius back home. He was still in his last class when I arrived, and I was sent to wait for him in his dormitory, where the only other person was a fellow Gryffindor, also a third year, name of Lupin." She smirked. "I confess, I craved distraction. The kiss he remembers wasn't with Severus, it was with me. He and Severus, they were in love, but neither of them had made the move. He was shy. I rather feel the need to confess to using a fair bit of force." She grinned. "Layers upon layers, now that's the way to work a memory charm. Lie upon lie upon half-truth, that's what covers the truth eternally."

Voldemort nodded smoothly, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Minx."

Bellatrix shrugged. "Perhaps."

"You'll tell him?"

"I see no reason why. I had no feelings for him, nor him for me. He had a very uncomfortable holiday, actually, remembering it, until I paid him a visit and took the memories away. No, it would only disturb him."

"So, no affection for you would coax loyalty?"

"I'm afraid not." Bellatrix glanced down with disinterest at Remus, who was still slumped on the ground. Blood trailed from his mouth; Voldemort's Legilimency had been particularly brutal. Gingerly, she touched him with the toe of her boot. He was very plainly unconscious.

Sighing softly, Voldemort folded his hands. "I had suspected that would be the case. Nevertheless, things will work in my favour."

"The Imperio, then?"

"The Imperius," Voldemort confirmed, nodding. He held out an arm to Bellatrix; his skin was marble white, and his entire body seemed more likely to have been carved from stone than cast in human flesh. "Come along, my dear. There is Severus to consider. I fear this matter will have to be dealt with delicately. Kept quiet, you understand. My Death Eaters must never suspect it is possible to get by with disloyalty for so long. We will deal with Lupin later."

"Another werewolf for the army," Bellatrix agreed, and arm in arm, they left the room.


	18. L'Avertissement

**L'Avertissement**

"_Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future." _- Fulton Oursler

* * *

Rain fell in sheets, nearly blinding the short, squat man as he hurried forth. Every aspect of his posture betrayed his discomfort. Drawn up protectively against his chest, his hands shook. His eyes darted this way and that, glancing cautiously over his shoulder and down the street. He paused for a moment, hearing a faint metallic rattle, and when he spied the solitary alley cat engrossed in the slim pickings of the rubbish bin, he looked even more nervous instead of relieved.

"Must do it," the man said to himself in a thin, high-pitched voice. He drew his hands nearer his face, gnawing his fingernails. "Have to. No choice. I wouldn't fancy -- no no, not risking making an enemy of _him_. Oh Merlin, but if the Dark Lord finds out --" He shut his mouth firmly, though the action did not stop the quivering of his chin. A pale tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his lips, and he plunged his fingernails into his hair, scratching his scalp. Something rustled close by, but the man told himself it was just the tremble of tree branches in the rising wind, and kept going. His soft shoes squeaked on the cobblestones.

Presently, he found himself approaching a smallish house. The area surrounding it was ratty and uncared for: the remnants of a rusty chain-link fence had mostly surrendered to the pull of vines, and the dying, yellowed grass was being slowly choked by tall weeds, which came up over the small man's knees as he scurried across the yard. There were many scents to explore -- spilt petrol, mouldering food, even the distant smell of woman -- but the man urged himself forward. His pace was curious. He would hover, immobile, for a few seconds as if scenting the air or investigating the scene. Then, applying his courage, he would plunge forward eagerly, darting rodent-like through the rambling weeds.

Finally, he drew near enough to the house to make out the flickering shadows of firelight playing on the drawn curtains. He froze, watching. He could just make out a human shape inside the main room; it appeared to be a tallish man, and he was writing, leaning close to his desk as if reading small, neat handwriting, a long quill twirled between elegant fingers. Another shape, equally human, though smaller, moved, and the spying man found himself jumping. He had not expected that. The tall man was almost always alone; he preferred it that way.

All seemed in order, and the man outside, Peter, decided that he was not yet too late. The street was silent and empty. Overhead, the moon hung, not quite swollen to capacity. The only other light came from within the little house. The street lamps edging the disintegrating road had long since been shattered by neighbourhood ruffians with a taste for throwing stones. Peter licked his lips again, frightened. His mind had been embroiled in conflict all evening, ever since he had heard the news.

He had not meant to overhear. He had been inside Malfoy manor, attempting to ingratiate himself with the higher-ups, when Bellatrix Lestrange had summoned him. His anger at being treated yet again like a servant instead of an equal had evaporated immediately after he had laid eyes on Voldemort, who was sitting beside her, one pale hand just an inch from Bellatrix's own. Peter had delivered the tea service, his hands so shaky from his nerves that the cups and teapot had rattled on the silver tray. He had very nearly upturned the biscuit plate as well, though Bellatrix had reached out, lightning-fast, and righted it before launching into a mocking tirade against him. Swollen with her verbal abuse, Peter had retreated, but he had not gone far. Outside the study which Bellatrix had commandeered, Lucius Malfoy had discovered him, and given him the job of dusting a vase. It was nothing personal, Peter knew; Lucius had a lot on his mind and was powerless to correct the problems that plagued him. Still, it had been with a heavy, resentful heart that Peter had conjured himself a cloth and begun wiping down the vase. He had been there still, rubbing the vase resentfully, his thoughts laden with insults for the lot of them, when he had realized he could hear every word Bellatrix and Voldemort exchanged.

"_Has he woken yet?"_

"_No, my Lord," Bellatrix had spoken sombrely, particular reverence audible in her voice. Peter had imagined her making an attempt to bow, tea cup and all. "Not yet, though I expect he will, quite soon. I have taken the liberty of stationing Hornby outside of his bedroom door. He cannot escape, of course; the containment spell is still very strong, but I felt it was prudent nonetheless."_

"_Naturally," Voldemort had replied, sounding pleased. "Too many risks have already been taken. I am as guilty as the rest of being lax with my security --"_

"_Certainly not, my Lord. It's not your fault."_

"_Your loyalty has been noted," Voldemort had responded, though he had not sounded particularly grateful. "But I'm afraid it is true. We have all underestimated our foes. Look at the number of times Potter has managed to elude me. The Legilimency I performed penetrated Lupin's mind thoroughly, and I'm afraid I made no attempt to conceal my invasion. When he awakes, he will knows that I have investigated his thoughts and memories. I feel it will be best if the Imperius curse is performed as soon as he has risen. Let's leave nothing more to chance, shall we?"_

"_Too right, sir."_

"_Now, as to my more pressing concern."_

"_Snape, my Lord?"_

"_Severus, yes." His voice had turned horribly cold. "The fool," Voldemort had burst out, sounding angry. "What madness possessed him, do you suppose? No, do not attempt to explain; there is no answer. Suicidal folly, perhaps. He never quite recovered from that Mudblood girl's death, did he? Still, it's taken him long enough. If he wanted to die, he should have come forth, rather than play these games. Did he really think he could aid my prisoners, slip information to my opposition behind my back, and remain undiscovered?"_

_Bellatrix' tone had become self-righteous. "I never trusted him, my Lord."_

"_Even when Lucius brought him in, that first time? Ah, I must confess, I did. I had every reason to believe him a loyalist. He was so hungry for power it was almost tangible. The light in his eyes, when I spoke of my plans; he was with us then, I am certain. Something changed, later on. There must have been a reason, something to turn him away from my cause."_

"_Lily, my Lord? The Mudblood?"_

"_Ah, yes," Voldemort had spoken softly, very nearly regretfully, almost as if he thought of Lily as an old friend nearly forgotten. "The Evans girl. Potter's wife, eventually. A pity, she should have belonged to Severus. Had I been able to coax her allegiance…."_

"_What shall we do, my Lord?"_

"_He must be destroyed, of course. That is a given. No mutiny goes unpunished here. I should like to make him an example to the others, but, of course, we cannot allow anyone else to know the true depths of his betrayal. No, I will simply inform my supporters that Severus' mind was recently swayed."_

_Bellatrix had sounded delighted. "His behaviour has been particularly erratic of late. Perhaps we can use that to your advantage. The Weasley girl, maybe. If we claim she seduced him, distracted him, stole his sense of purpose --"_

"_An excellent idea."_

"_Might we kill her too, then? Clearly, we can not afford to show weakness in this case by granting her any mercy, and inclusion within the ranks, even as a captive, would send the wrong message. Besides, I do want her dead."_

"_A very well-known group of blood traitors, those Weasleys," Voldemort had agreed. "I understand your contempt. Very well, the both of them. Give the supporters a bit of sport, something to play with."_

"_When?" Bellatrix had asked eagerly._

_Voldemort had waited a long moment before finally responding. "Tonight." _

Peter had then heard the subtle rustle of the great wizard's robes, indicating that Voldemort had risen, prepared to take his leave. Teeth chattering with anxiety, Peter had promptly abandoned the vase - dust still clinging to its interior - and the cloth, preferring a dishonourable escape to attempting to explain what, in fact, he had been doing, listening at the door to the Dark Lord's conversation with the most trusted of his minions.

Normally, Peter was not a courageous man. He had never been; it was simply absent from his nature. Living in Gryffindor house for so many years had not changed this fact, only highlighted it, leaving Peter to puzzle nightly over what curious stroke of fate or diabolical magic had had him sorted there. Truth be told, he had figured himself destined for the life of a Hufflepuff. He was not cut out for a dramatic life, neither extraordinary nor terrible. As a young man, he had never been handsome, but his appearance had not been gruesome either; only wear and tear, as it were, had thinned and whitened his hair, added heft to his gut and seen him cloaked in the most miserable of shabby clothes. His wizardry as adequate at best, though he had never been the absolute worst of his lot either. It had seemed Hufflepuff would be the ideal place for him, and it might have been. Peter still found himself dreaming on occasion about the nice, Plain Jane sort of girl he might have met there and the life the two of them could have made: his meaningless job in a mundane office within a lower department in the Ministry; his pleasant, if dull-witted children; a small cottage with neatly mown grass and wilting dahlias along the walkway; coffee and the Daily Prophet before work each morning and roast on Sundays. It would have been a fair life, he knew, a decent sort of life; forgettable, maybe, but adventure was the last thing he needed. However, fate or luck or destiny had set him on a different course.

Since Peter was _not _a courageous man, it had taken him a fair bit of time to resolve himself to the task ahead. Coming to Severus' aide -- he was not sure why he felt he must, only that it had to be done and he was the ideal candidate. Unimportant, he managed to fly beneath the radar within the manor headquarters. No one paid him any mind whether he was present or not, and so he had managed, after working up the bravery, to slip out unnoticed.

Yellow light from the window shone a golden patch on Severus' scraggly lawn. In spite of himself, Peter felt a tad relieved; it had worried him, creeping about alone in the dark. He was sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but it seemed he had heard whispers all during his walk. He peered through the window, watching the two figures inside. The Weasley girl, he knew; he had forgotten about her. She was holding a glass of something, possibly wine, twirling it in her hands the way Severus was twirling his quill. Then she bent, and the silhouettes blurred; they were kissing. Heat lit Peter's face and he took a step back in surprise. The role of voyeur suited him, but there was no time. Forcefully, he scampered up to the door and rapped his knuckles against it, hard. From his angle, he could just see the figures behind the window spring apart. The smaller one, the girl, hurried deeper into the house while the taller one, Severus, rose, crossing to the door.

Severus' eyes were cold steel. "Pettigrew."

"Severus, I --" Peter began, then halted. He glanced over his shoulder, checking for intruders. No one seemed to be out there in the dark, but he could still feel the night pressing in on him, full of spies and violence. Wiping his damp forehead with his sleeve, Peter met the man's eyes. "May I come in?"

"No."

"It's urgent," Peter insisted, gnawing his bottom lip. His fingernails had already been whittled down to stubs. "I must speak to you."

Severus remained impassive. "Not tonight. I'm busy, I have a great deal of work to complete."

"It's a matter of life and death."

With a reluctant sigh, Severus opened the door a bit wider, making just enough room for Peter to squeeze his body through. Ignoring his visitor, Severus peered out into the night for a moment. The stars were not shining, though he could see the moon uncloaked by clouds or fog. No wind was blowing, and yet he could hear the faint rustle of wet leaves in the breeze. The only other sound was the white noise of the falling rain. "Were you followed?" he demanded, speaking to Peter but not looking at him.

Trembling, Peter shook his head. "No." _I hope not_, he thought fervently.

"My sentiments as well. The fog is coming in, thick and fast," Severus noted. "Pea soup," he added, thinking of romantic Victorian stories about cut-throat men who haunted the footsteps of the painted ladies who sold their company for Muggle coins, and who disappeared by the time bright morning came.

"I thought that was only in London," Peter commented, confused.

"It is." Severus closed the door, and then, in an uncustomary gesture performed a sealing protective charm over it. "Was," he corrected himself. "Not anymore." Sensing that Peter had not come to discuss matters as unimportant as the weather or dead Muggles, Severus beckoned him away from the door. "Well?"

For a moment, Peter toyed with the information in his head, wondering how best to give Severus the announcement. Then, he simply blurted it out. "It is the Dark Lord, Severus. He -- he knows."

Severus froze mid-way in the act of making a sarcastic retort. He gaped at Pettigrew with horror for a moment, then managed to regain his composure. "Explain."

"I only overheard, the Dark Lord and Bellatrix Lestrange," Peter explained hurriedly. His heart thumped a quick rodent beat in his chest. "Something to do with Rem -- Lupin," he corrected himself hastily, as his stomach gave a flip at the mere thought of his former friend. Thinking of Remus made him sick with guilt and hard-hitting nostalgia. "Legilimency, I think. They know that you are not loyal any longer, Severus. They are going --" but Peter was not able to finish what he wanted to say, because Severus reached out with rattlesnake reflexes and grabbed his chin.

He asked only one word. "When?"

"Now," Peter answered helplessly, staggering backwards. "Tonight. Any time, I do not know, but I know they planned --"

"Ginevra!" Severus thundered, his hands diving into his pockets in order to retrieve his wand. His mind whirled dizzily; Pettigrew was a pathetic example of wizardry in the best of times, fit only for the lowliest of tasks, and Ginny, though reasonably skilled for a witch of her age, was wandless. Severus shook his head, wishing it was a dream from which he might wake. He could hear Ginny hurrying down the stairs and turned to look at her, not certain what he could say.

She looked defenceless, still in her damned nightgown, her feet bare, hands empty of anything that might serve as even the most rudimentary weaponry.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, breathless as she hurried into the front room. Scanning the room, her eyes settled on Peter and she gave a short cry of surprise, which she muffled with one hand. He instilled a peculiar fear in her, though she was not sure why; he seemed more a harmless old letch than cold-blooded killer, but he was a Death Eater, she knew that much. Still, Severus seemed to accept his presence without problem, and she imitated his attitude. "Severus, what's happening? Is everything all right?"

He had not felt this scared -- actively, powerlessly frightened -- since that horrible afternoon in his fifth year at Hogwarts, when he had realised that he had made a tremendous blunder he would never be able to repair. Severus hated the feeling: the sickness squirming in his gut, the rattle of a papery heart inside a cage of painful ribs, a bloodstream that seemed to have become an ice floe. It made him feel vulnerable, and vulnerability tended to make him angry. "Fetch your cloak," he instructed in as calm a voice as he could muster. "And your boots. Pettigrew," he added, "give her your wand."

"My -- but Severus --"

"DO IT!" Severus bellowed with sudden uncustomary rage. He took a few menacing steps in Peter's direction, which was all it took for Peter to fish his wand out from his robes and toss it sullenly onto the floor at Ginny's feet. "Take it," Severus instructed Ginny. "No, not in your pocket, keep it out."

Ginny had picked up on the uneasy vibe. "Tell me what's happening," she insisted, clutching Peter's wand with two hands.

"We must leave, immediately," Severus answered tersely. "Pettigrew, go now, out the back door. You can perform your transformation wandless, am I correct?" When Peter nodded, Severus beckoned him forth. "Then clear out. Wait for them to come. There will be blunders, there always are. Claim your wand was misplaced then."

"When will I get it back?" Peter asked petulantly, feeling rather naked in his wand's absence.

Severus' face was a death's mask. "In time, I suspect," he said. "Now, go on. Ginevra, come with me," he continued, reaching out and catching her arm. Her feet were still bare, the boots tumbling from her hands as he jerked her forward, but there was no time to lose. The Dark Mark on Severus' arm did not burn; he did not expect it to. He would not be summoned tonight. He had been found out as no longer a part of the loyal. There would be no warning. "We have to go outside," he explained, dragging Ginny onward. "No one can Apparate into this house, nor can we Disapperate from here. We have to get some distance from this place before they --"

It was then that Severus froze, his last sentence still hanging audible in the air. Distantly, Severus heard his back door slam -- Pettigrew was making good his escape -- but the noise was only background, a bit player in the big production. Severus stared wordlessly at Ginny, who looked back at him in horror.

A curse of violet light streamed into the room, having just burst through the front door.


	19. Rendu Pur

Author's Note: Normally, I do not use a lot of song lyrics in my writing, and I've never written a song-fic before, but I was listening to this song today and it occurred to me how well it fit the personalities of a few HP characters. I decided to use it, and I hope you don't mind. The lyrics are from the song_"My Skin" _by Natalie Merchant. Give it a listen if you have the chance, I'm sure it's on you tube. On characters - Peter in this chapter may seem somewhat OOC, but I actually think he has this in him. He is not a favourite character of mine (it's easy to guess who is, probably) but I felt he had a place in the story. This chapter is dedicated to Webba Pettigrew, even though she will probably never even read this story, because of her insistence that the fandom does not forget the fourth, most flawed Marauder.

* * *

**Rendu Pur**

* * *

_Take a look at my body_

_Look at my hands_

_There's so much here that I don't understand_

_Your face say these promises_

_Whispered like prayers_

_I don't need them_

"Ginevra! Get down!" shouted Severus at the top of his voice as the volley of spells shot through the night, bursting all around him. _Merlin…already? _he thought in panic as he bowed down, only his wand visible over the top of the couch. _I've got to get her out of this. I promised she'd be safe with me!_

Ginny fell obediently to her knees without needing to be told twice. Arms raised to cover her head, she bent low, shielding her face from the sudden explosion of fragmented glass; a Death Eater spell had shattered the lamp beside her and another had blown up the end table, showering her and Severus with wood fragments and glass dust. She could hear a young woman screaming in pain and terror, but the voice seemed to come from a distance. It was not until Severus whirled around, facing her, his expression complete terror, that Ginny realised the sound was coming from her.

Baring his teeth, Severus leapt up from behind the couch. He had not been a loyalist to the Dark Lord for over a decade, but like any self-respecting Death Eater, when he duelled he aimed to kill. A green, murky glow filled the room as he shot several killing curses in the direction of the front door, a part of which still flapped tiredly on one partially melted hinge. In response to his actions, Severus was targeted by another round of spells. Mulciber's red Crucio was knocked off course by Bellatrix's Avada Kedavra, which she fired with deadly precision. Severus could hear the spell shooting by his ear in a gust of wind as he dropped onto the ground again.

"Get out of here," he yelled to Ginny, who gaped at him in horror. "You've got Pettigrew's wand?" When he saw it in her hands, he nodded. He shot a few more Avada Kedavras towards the door and was rewarded with a hideous groan and the dull sound of someone collapsing; one of his spells had found a target; one Death Eater was down. Severus aimed his wand at Ginny, mutely casting every protection charm he could remember even as he flapped his hands, beckoning for her to run. "I'll cover you. You've got to --"

Words cut short by an abrupt flare of pain, Severus grabbed his arm. A hex had collided with his upper arm, burning away the material of his robes and leaving an ugly purple gash from which blood gutted. "Doesn't matter," he hissed at Ginny through his clenched teeth. "Go on."

Hesitant, she shook her head, frozen with fear. "But I --"

"I'll find you!" Severus reached out with his good left arm and shoved her, his face twisted with hurt and ferocity. For a minute he watched her halting progress; ungainly, she managed to stumble towards the back door through what appeared to be a field of shooting stars, spells all, which glittered and flickered scarce centimetres from her body. Then he leapt up, full of rage, just in time to see Bellatrix burst through the door, cackling.

"TRAITOR!" Bellatrix screamed herself hoarse. Her dark eyes were lit with wicked jubilation, and her wand arm moved so fast her limb seemed a blur of pure motion. Spells, all of them green and deadly, burst from her wand, trailing Ginny, just for the joy of watching Severus' shock and horror. Somehow, they missed, and the girl escaped through the back door. Unconcerned, Bellatrix joined Lucius Malfoy and Gordon Crabbe, who were duelling Severus frantically. "You'll pay for this, Snape! Do you hear me? You're going to die tonight!"

_Because I've been treated so wrong_

_I've been treated so long_

_As if I'm becoming untouchable_

_Well content loves the silence_

_It thrives in the dark_

_With fine winding tendrils_

_That strangle the heart_

_They say that promises sweeten the blow_

_But I don't need them, no_

_I don't need them_

_I've been treated so wrong_

_I've been treated so long_

_As if I'm becoming untouchable_

_I'm the slow dying flower_

_In the frost killing hour_

_Sweet turning sour and untouchable_

"Pet -- Peter Pettigrew!" Ginny screamed at the top of her voice as she collided roughly with the door frame. She had forgotten that Peter was a Death Eater, only remembering that Severus had seemed to trust him, and that he had brought them warning. "Help," she added, under her breath. Eyes closed, Ginny searched for the door handle, not quite daring to look around out of fear of what she might see. She could hear Bellatrix Lestrange's cold laughter from the sitting room, and Severus' icy response. He was holding his own against her, despite the fact that his bleeding right arm hung almost useless at his side, cut down through the muscle and tendons. Severus' courage, his dismissive retorts to Bellatrix's furious taunts, gave Ginny a burst of bravery, and she managed to open her eyes and hit the heel of her hand against the door, so that it gave way.

A thick-set shadow burst out from behind the dense foliage in the backyard, and Ginny jumped, but it was merely Peter. He had been drawn out of hiding by her shout, and was surprised to find his numb legs carrying him in her direction.

He raced towards her, moving exceptionally fast despite his bulky build. Before she had recovered her shock, Peter had wrested his wand out of her startled hand, and turned to hurry away. _I don't need this_, he thought desperately. _Oh no. Got to get back -- back to the manor, where it's safe. I don't owe her anything, the blood traitor, Muggle lover._ His feet pounded against the damp grass, slipping in the mud as he tried to find traction, but somehow Peter found himself glancing frightfully over his shoulder, his gaze falling on Ginny. She looked small and scared, standing barefoot in a rain puddle, her flimsy nightgown damp against her skin, her dark red hair plastered to her forehead. Her eyes were beseeching.

_I can't, _Peter thought. _No, no, no. They'll come for me if they find me out. The Dark Lord will come for me! _He took a step backwards, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste, but his eyes remained glued to the figure of Ginny, who had covered her face and started to sob helplessly like a child.

Ginny sniffled, cold stealing over her heart as though she were surrounded by a horde of Dementors, each one passionately sucking away at her soul. She shivered in the cold rain. Her senses, tuned carefully to Severus' suffering, were assaulted by the howling wind, the swirling leaves caught in the updraft, the percussive tapping of the rain upon the roof of the old Snape house. From within, she could hear Severus shouting, though whether in triumph or pain she did not know. _I'm lost_, Ginny thought, shaking her head as a mental image of her mother occurred to her. She could practically see Molly there in her mind's eye, bustling and nurturing, and her father as well, with his understanding smile, his eager eyes. _Mum, Dad, don't leave me here alone. Help -- help me_. _Sev -- somebody_. She was half convinced that it was all a dream when she felt the sudden pressure of someone snatching up her hand.

"Come on," Peter said urgently as his fingers closed around Ginny's. "Come on, hurry, hurry! We've got to get far away from this place."

Reining in her wild, scattered thoughts, Ginny nodded, half-running, half being dragged along beside Peter as he hurried through the yard. "Apparition!" she exclaimed. "We're outside the house now!"

Peter's expression was grim. "Not unless you know how. I -- I never learned side-along." There was no time to feel abashed, and it was pointless remembering the ease upon which Sirius and James had learned the skill. _Jamesy, Lily -- no -- no. _"Got to get far away from here. I can't Apparate you out of here."

"You're not going to leave me to fight them off alone, are you?" Ginny asked, stricken.

Shaking his head quickly, Peter sighed. He could feel his teeth chattering, and knew it had nothing to do with the cold. For once, he had found courage within himself, and the revelation of it astounded him. "No," he said, with finality.

_Oh, I need the darkness_

_The sweetness_

_The sadness_

_The weakness_

_Oh, I need this_

_I need a lullaby_

_A kiss good night_

_Angel sweet love of my life_

_Oh, I need this_

"When we get done with her, there won't even be enough left of dear Ginny Weasley for Lupin to lick up!" shouted Bellatrix as she directed a curse straight for Severus' heart. She winced as he managed, yet again, to sidestep it, but derisive laughter flowed free from her mouth nonetheless. It would intimidate him, she knew; her manic glee disturbed even the toughest among the male Death Eaters. They might kill and torture with ease, but it still surprised them to see a woman wielding death's wand with such ease and delight. True to her prediction, Severus whitened, though to his credit, he was not caught off guard, and managed to direct a curse her way in return.

"How long can you keep up this dance, Sevvie?" Bellatrix asked, nodding for Crabbe and Avery to go after the Weasley girl. "Can you jump forever? I don't think so. And I will not give up!" Her voice turned sour as she spoke this last, spitting the words hatefully at Severus. "You have betrayed the Dark Lord! Did you honestly expect -- no better than a filthy Mudblood --"

In spite of Bellatrix's anger and the precarious situation, Severus found himself smiling, his insides burning with sudden warmth, as though she had meant 'Mudblood' as a compliment. "It doesn't matter what you do to me. It will not change what I've gotten away with. All these years, smuggling Voldemort's secrets out to Albus Dumbledore." He grinned widely, although he was quite far from happy. "They have what they need to beat you."

"Who, Dumbledore?" Bellatrix screamed laughter. "Worm food, that's what he is. There's nothing left of old Dumbly, 'cept a few rotting bones. You still think he's the great saviour of wizard-kind, is that it?"

"No." Severus darted aside as Bellatrix' spell came for him. "No, that would be Potter, and his friends." It was rather wrenching to have to admit that out loud, but whatever his personal disputes with the young man, Severus knew Dumbledore had not been wrong in guessing it would all come down to Harry in the end.

Bellatrix's dark eyes flamed. "Potter? You have been aiding -- Potter?"

"Surprised yet?" Severus asked, taking her confusion as an opportunity to strike. At the last second, he did not fire a killing curse, as he knew he should have done -- as he would of ridiculed anyone else for avoiding -- but his Stunner sent Bellatrix flying backwards into the wall, where she landed in a heap of plaster. She was an enemy, and but an old enemy, a woman he had always despised but somehow grown to know, and he had fired the stunner, knowing this time his curse would hit. With a wicked gleam in his black eyes, Severus turned menacingly toward Mulciber and cocked his head. "Try it," he said, and Mulciber flung his wand up, trying to shield himself. This time Severus' curse was a bolt of green, and Mulciber crumpled to the ground, stone dead.

_I'm the slow dying flower_

_In the frost killing hour_

_Sweet turning sour and untouchable_

_Do you remember the way that you touched me before_

_All the trembling sweetness I loved and adored_

_Your face saying promised whispered like prayers_

_I don't need them_

"Keep up, girl, keep up," urged Peter impatiently as Ginny struggled to run at his pace. He could tell her bare feet were being bloodied and bruised; they had fled the grassy lot and scurried onto the road, which was slowly being destroyed by time and weather. Tugging Ginny's hand, Peter breathed frantically, gasping as he tried to remember the last time he had been in this much trouble.

Without much effort, Peter found himself recalling the crowded Muggle street in the middle of London. Sirius' face had been a mask of pain. He had plainly not slept for quite some time, and there were deep circles of dark blue under his pale grey eyes, which had seethed fire when he had glared at Peter through the crowd. Still handsome despite the fact that he was wearing filthy robes that smelled of spilt fire whiskey, stale cologne and ash, and regardless of the fact he had not bothered to wash or comb his hair in days, Sirius had seemed ethereal and otherworldly in his anger, as though his temper had been too much for one world to hold. Peter had never seen Sirius cry before; none of the Gryffindor boys had been the type to bear their emotions, though Remus might occasionally give into moody melancholia and sulk near the windows as the moon waned. On that occasion, though, Sirius' beautiful face had been scattered with tears. He had shouted with a voice that was ragged and torn from hours of crying, a litany of hate and complete incomprehension. Peter had wanted to speak, to explain, but there was Bellatrix and Lucius to answer to, a virtual gun to his head. He had blown up the street, killing Muggles and nearly killing Sirius, falling helplessly into his Animagus form and scurrying away to the sounds of Sirius' mad, heartbroken laughter in his ears.

This time, he was not going to run.

"Go," Peter said, drawing up short. He gasped for breath. _I'm sorry_, he thought vaguely, not sure to whom he wanted to apologise. _I'm sorry. I didn't know it would end up like this._

Ginny stopped so quickly that she nearly toppled over. "What? What -- we've got to run!"

"No." Peter chewed his lip desperately. _Oh God, what am I doing? _"They'll kill Severus. I must go back, and you should run to --"

"Pettigrew!"

Avery's voice resounded like a thunderclap directly overhead, and Peter found himself pin wheeling as he lost his balance. Toppling over onto his bottom on the gravel edge of the road, Peter shook his head frantically, lies rising automatically to his lips. For a split second, he glanced at Ginny, debating whether or not to blame the girl, to pretend he had been giving chase, or that she had overpowered him somehow. Then, Peter snapped back to his senses, for the first time in years, and had the humanity to feel abashed both for considering faulting her, and for everything else to which he owed his gravest regrets.

"Avery!" Peter squeaked. He cleared his throat, grimacing.

Avery advanced, his lip curled. "Hand over the girl. What were you doing out here anyway? Snape has managed to kill two of our number already! We need all the man-power we can get inside that house!" His eyes settled greedily upon Ginny, who backed away, hands out. "C'mere, girly!"

"No," Peter shouted, leaping in between Avery and Ginny. He raised his wand, his hands shaking. "Ava -- Avada --"

_Oh, I need the darkness_

_The sweetness_

_The sadness_

_The weakness_

_Oh, I need this_

_I need a lullaby_

_A kiss good night_

_Angel sweet love of my life_

_Oh, I need this_

"Don't, Lucius," Severus said warningly. His voice managed to convey a warning of serious bodily harm, despite the fact that he had been disarmed, and was at present being forced to kneel upon the carpet, virtually all control over his body given up to Malfoy. Slitted, his ebony eyes glowered at Lucius, but there was desperation there also. "Lucius -- you've got to make sure Ginevra is all right! Please, Lucius --"

Lucius Malfoy waved his wand easily. "Silencio," he pronounced. Calmly, he glanced around the room. Bellatrix, still unconscious, was dozing on the carpet, fragments of exploded plaster and brick coating her hair and face. A small fire was burning in the corner, where a careless hex had gone off-track and lighted the curtains. Mulciber was quite dead, his body stiff and immobile. This did not inspire any sort of sympathy or regret in Lucius, who remembered distinctly the dead man's tendency to lord power over him. Outside, Goyle was also dead, another victim of Severus' practised wand. _No loss_, Lucius mused. The rest of the party had gone after the Weasley girl, and for the moment, Lucius had his old friend to himself.

"You have made a grave error, Severus," he spoke softly. Shrugging as if Severus' betrayal was of no real consequence, Lucius reached out and touched the bloody wound on Severus' arm. "It hurts?" When Severus nodded, jerking his head spitefully, Lucius pursed his lips. "You'll suffer far more than this, I'm afraid. After the Dark Lord mets out his punishment, a mere Sectumsempra will look like a paper cut."

Severus struggled against the body-bind curse. It did not get him anywhere, but Lucius seemed to notice. "Uncomfortable? Good. I suggest you get used to it." Lucius frowned. "How could you do it, Severus? You may have forgotten, it was I who introduced you to the Dark Lord, who helped you join the ranks of his closest, most loyal associates. We all experience displeasure," he said, with a wave of his hand. "The Dark Lord did not succeed in his venture to kill the Potter boy, and the repeated failures were disappointing, I will grant. However, you used to have patience. You could have waited, and riches and fame would have been yours, at last. The power, for which you used to long, Severus!"

"He killed her," Severus spoke quietly as Lucius waved his wand again, allowing him to speak. He raised his head as best he could, looking at Lucius straight in the eye, imploring him to understand. "She needn't have died, but he killed her," he said simply.

Perplexed, Lucius frowned. "What are you talking about?" Then it dawned on him, and he was ill equipped to conceal his shock. "You mean that Mudblood girl? The Evans wench? But she was a dirty-blooded --"

Seething, Severus nodded. "Her blood --" he said, but his voice trailed away to a fit of gasping. One of his injuries had deepened, and he could feel his breath leaking away; one of his lungs had plainly been damaged, and he could taste his own blood on his tongue as he coughed. "Her blood was the last thing on my mind."

Lucius uttered a bitter laugh. "And see where that got you, my friend?"

A groan from the corner indicated that Bellatrix had risen. She leapt to her feet like a defensive tiger, even as she held one hand to the back of her head to stop the bleeding. "Well?" she shouted at Lucius, seeing Severus down and disarmed. "Why isn't he dead yet?"

Severus managed a small smile. "It shan't last, Bellatrix, not to worry," he assured her sarcastically, with a wry look towards Malfoy. "Don't tell me you've turned merciful, Lucius."

Bellatrix seemed suspicious as Lucius exchanged a slim smile with Severus. She glared around the room. "Where's the Weasley bitch? Have they got her yet? Is she dead?"

Lucius shrugged, disinterested. "I do not know. If you'll beg pardon, I was rather busy with Severus here, while you were enjoying your nap." He sighed, and plucked unhappily at a recent cut across his cheekbone. Daubing his fingers in the blood, he sighed again, with drama. "You should have aimed to kill. You know how I detest scars, Severus. I'm afraid my frustration will have to be taken out in the girl's hide, if we find her, that is."

Severus' eyes widened. "Lucius -- Lucius will you please --"

"Quiet!" Bellatrix snapped. "When I catch that blood traitor, she's going to pray for an easy death. Do you hear me, Snape?" She spat across his face, glowering. "I'm going to rip her limb from limb, or better yet, make Lupin do it! Your two pets, forced to destroy each other, what do you say? She'll beg me to kill her in the end."

"Ginny," Severus breathed mournfully, but Bellatrix lunged forward, and with one upraised arm hit him sharply on the back of the neck. His dark eyes rolled back into his head as the world around him went dark, and he slumped face-down on the carpet.

"He'll live," Bellatrix said with some disappointment as Lucius' eyes met hers. Ignoring the anger plain on Lucius' face, Bellatrix felt no fear of retaliation; Malfoy, at least, knew the importance of loyalty. She kicked the toe of her boot against Severus' temple, hard. "Come on."

_Well is it dark enough_

_Can you see me_

_Do you want me_

_Can you reach me_

_Oh, I'm leaving_

_You better shut your mouth_

_And hold your breath_

_And kiss me now_

_And catch your death_

_Oh, I mean this_

_Oh, I mean this_

"Avada Kedavra!" Peter Pettigrew shouted, his meek voice ringing in his ears. The loudness of it frightened him, but filled him with a boldness as well, and he raised his wand high, ignoring Ginny's scream from behind him. Green light shot like fire from his wand, streaming like a train towards Avery, but right as the spell was ready to collide with the Death Eater, Avery managed a complicated little pirouette, and the light did not hit him.

"Expelliarmus!" Avery roared, his voice filled with hate. "Pettigrew, you filthy worm!" he shouted as the stunned little man's wand flew from his hand and landed smoothly in Avery's palm. Discarding it onto the ground, Avery marched forward, his own wand out like a sword. "Have you lost your mind?" he bellowed. "Crucio!"

Peter tensed, expecting to feel a sudden burst of pain through his body, but nothing happened. Then the frantic screams from the girl beside him clued him in to the curse's intended victim.

Ginny flailed and twisted on the edge of the road, her fingernails splintering raggedly as she clawed the concrete gravel in desperation, trying without avail to fight the torture flowing through her. She bucked, hitting her head hard against a sharp stone, and her shouts seemed torn from her, depleting her lungs of oxygen.

"No, stop it!" Peter urged, waving his hands helplessly at Avery. He could picture himself all too easily on the other end of the wand, holding another person in torment without a shade of remorse, but although that was the life he had lived for so long, his courage, once unburied, refused to be hidden away again. "No! No!"

Miraculously, the pain stopped for Ginny, who remained sprawled on the roadside, her muscles spasmodic as her body attempted to recover from the onslaught. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and she felt terribly dizzy as she weakly dragged herself into a sitting position. Her tears poured tracks down her cheeks, cleaning away the dirt.

Avery giggled meanly. "You want it, then, Pettigrew? Might as well get used to suffering. The Dark Lord is going to have a heyday, with you and 'ol Snape. He'll sate the werewolves' blood lust with you."

Peter shambled over to road's edge, his expression set. He thought of his old friends, the living and the dead: James' wild hair and broomstick; Sirius' effervescent smile; Remus' glowing, knowing eyes. He could almost see them there, pale figures by the side of the road, all of them seventeen and grinning widely. "Come on, then Avery," he said, and his voice, though high-pitched, sounded forceful. He scuttled backwards awkwardly, inviting Avery to guffaw loudly and walk menacingly toward him. The wand, Peter's own, was left on the grass, forgotten by the man as he meandered in Peter's direction, intent on enjoying the game.

"You're gonna wish you were dead, Pettigrew," Avery assured him. "When I get done, you'll be flayed alive."

Across the road, Sirius' hair seemed to blow in an imaginary summer breeze. James removed his glasses and polished them, putting them back on and winking at Peter through clear lenses as Sirius, his usual grin widening, nodded Peter on. _For courage, _Peter thought, steeling himself. "Ginny -- girl, the wand!" Peter shouted.

Shocked into movement, Ginny flung herself across the road, falling into her knees and skinning them, but grabbing the wand. In one fluid movement, she was hit by Peter's last spell; non-verbal, wandless, far beyond anything he had ever dreamed himself capable of, he had made his wand a port-key, which seemed to hook Ginny under her navel and pull her into the nothingness.

Outraged as he watched the red-haired girl fade away to safety, Avery screamed. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, stabbing his wand in Peter's direction.

The plump blonde man felt the sting as his heart stopped beating and his blood stopped pumping, but the pain only lasted a fraction of a second, and then everything within his body seemed far beyond him; forgotten, discarded. Peter could feel himself falling: very, very slowly. He could not feel his legs, but knew they had given way, spilling him onto the ground. He had no more hands, yet he could feel a smooth hand slide into his, grasping him tightly and pulling him up, up, up. There were no more eyes with which to see, but somehow Peter saw them anyway: Sirius Black smiled, squeezing Peter's hand with complete forgiveness, and James clapped a hand around Peter's nonexistent shoulders, and together the three of them marched on.


	20. Ombre de la Lune

Author's Note: The chapter contains some brief slash (male/male). Beware!

**Ombre de la Lune**

* * *

_To outer senses there is peace,_

_A dreamy peace on either hand,_

_Deep silence in the shadowy land,_

_Deep silence where the shadows cease._

_Save for a cry that echoes shrill_

_From some lone bird disconsolate;_

_A corncrake calling to its mate;_

_The answer from the misty hill._

_And suddenly the moon withdraws_

_Her sickle from the lightening skies,_

_And to her sombre cavern flies,_

_Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze._ -- Oscar Wilde "_Le Fuite de la Lune"_

_Cold stone_. Severus could feel it, frigid and unyielding beneath his open hands, bruising his hip as he lay, deathly still, in the awkward position in which he had been thrown. If there was comfort intended for him in the future, he doubted that he would find it here. The hard floor scratched roughly at the skin of his shoulder and the side of his face; bared pale to the damp chill of the room, Severus's skin was a canvas of red, cuts both miniscule and deep, spilling sluggish blood. There was pain throughout him, remnants of the injuries he had sustained at Bellatrix's hand, from Lucius' wand, and from the Dark Lord, who had stood before him imperious and outraged, sneering through a casting of Crucio. Severus tossed his aching body over onto his back and opened his eyes to the darkness he had known would be there. None of the pain mattered; it was external, and his stubborn body would heal. It always had, all through bouts of suicidal depression and the episodic torture; liberal use of the Cruciatus was preferred by the Dark Lord, who had inflicted it upon his loyal as punishments both before and after the death of Lily and James. No, what hurt was the fact that he knew he was alone. Ginny's scent was gone. Her phantom breathing still echoed in his ears, but he knew he was only imagining it, and his dark eyes stung with tears he had not let fall for over a decade.

No one became a Death Eater out of an abundance of mercy, and Severus had been unsurprised at his peers' enjoyment of the torture they had inflicted at their master's orders. Unlike past victims, he had not begged for mercy, or filled their ears with luscious screams; though in the end, of course, the verbal expression of his pain had been coaxed out of him, too much for him to bear. He had walked upright and steady into the torture chamber, a last gallows march, and his eyes had sparked flinty hatred and uppity contempt as he had glanced at his former associates, each of whom seemed more than delighted to hurt him.

"You will kneel before me, Snape," Voldemort himself had spat, his own eyes equally furious, though lacking in Severus' bravery, as he held a wand in his wintry hand. "Go on," he had continued, and with a flick of his wand Severus had been on his knees before the dais. "Bow to your master, one last time."

Severus' stubbornness had been of no avail. Unwillingly, he had found himself bending low, bowing his head to the floor in a posture of worship. Straining until it felt his back might break, he had managed to raise his head enough to glare at the Dark Lord, but he had been powerless to scramble back to his feet.

"You thought you could betray me?" queried the dark wizard, a mirthless smile on his thin lips. "Me? The most powerful wizard who has ever lived? I am the greatest wizard to ever explore the mysteries of the dark arts, the only one to travel so far into the realm of mystical knowledge -- do not contradict me!"

The white lips had scarcely seemed to move as he spoke, but Voldemort's voice had echoed loudly throughout the magnificent structure that Severus remembered all too well. _Fitting_, he had thought, almost amused. _It would be here, wouldn't it? _He blinked around the train station, taking in the light filtering in from the open arc at the far end, the oily tracks, the distant spire of St Pancras. He knew, regardless of the fact that he had been born eleven years before slipping onto the platform nine and three quarters, his life had begun here. Hands clasped with Lily, he had abandoned sneering James Potter and laughing Sirius Black, seeking an empty compartment as the train had carried him on, on. It was only suitable that he would die here as well, on the empty platform.

"Albus Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard that ever lived," Severus had said slowly, giving voice to the thought that had occurred to him in the middle of the Dark Lord's lecture. Coughing, he had still managed to look regal as he stared into the soulless eyes of the man who had once been Tom Riddle. "Though I'll grant you, you're the expert at plumbing the darkness." He shook his head as best he could, defiant. "As if that matters."

"Crucio!" shouted Bellatrix Lestrange, unable to contain her rage any longer in the face of Severus' unrepentant attitude towards her Lord.

Severus' legs had weakened, spilling him onto the ground as they kicked and struck. His arms had flailed, and he'd bit through his bottom lip in an effort to contain his shouts of agony. He had felt the Cruciatus curse before, but one never grew accustomed to it. It was all white-hot pain tracing a cruel finger through his body. _Stop it, Merlin please! _Thrashing on the floor, however, he had remained as silent as he was able, his desperate panting for air the only sound that came from him.

"That is enough," Voldemort had spoken after a moment. "Thank you, Bellatrix, for your generous show of loyalty." His voice had been like the crackling of spitting fire. "I am pleased to see that not all of my Death Eaters have gone astray." Over the low murmuring of dedication and promises from the black-cloaked, masked figures, Voldemort beckoned for Severus to rise. "Get up."

The Cruciatus had been lifted, but Severus had still felt horrendous agony running through him. His muscles had seized up, and blood had gushed from his mouth, dripping down his chin and spotting his robes, from the place where he had bitten through his lip. Drenched with sweat, his hair obscured his vision, but he had tossed it back bravely, contempt plastered across his face.

"I killed Dumbledore," Voldemort had said, airily. "Yet you claim that he, a dead wizard with a poor legacy, was better than I? I have mistaken your madness for brilliance, Severus, for cunning, and yet I see clearly now."

It had hurt to do so much as breathe, but as Severus staggered upright, he had managed a sneer. "Actually, if you remember, it was I who murdered Albus Dumbledore --"

There had not been time for him to finish his statement, for although Bellatrix had restrained herself, Voldemort himself had raised his wand and shouted the spell for torture, smirking and smouldering with rage as he applied the Cruciatus. His spell was worse than any Severus had ever felt: a million knives dragged dull points through his flesh, his eyes stung as though clouded with smoke, and his screams were finally coaxed out, shrill in the ears of Lucius and Bellatrix, who gaped: Bellatrix with obvious delight, Lucius with grimacing concern he was not entirely comfortable with. Lucius' hand had fallen heavily onto the shoulder of his son, pinning Draco to the spot, so the pale blonde boy could not turn away from the sight of his traitor professor and friend being slowly destroyed. _It's what happens to traitors_, Lucius had thought, not with any joy or vengeance. He'd thought of the gruelling task of teaching Draco loyalty to the Dark Lord, and how plain Draco's desire to escape the inner circle was. _The boy should know. _Draco, for his part, had stared in horror, his eyes growing rounded and rounder, his mouth falling open in shock, until the image of Snape battering his head against the floor and shrieking in agony faded beneath a veil of tears.

That time, Severus had not recovered. His limbs had shuddered, but he had been paralyzed by the pain, unable to open his fisted hands or to do anything save remained curled in a foetal position, shaking desperately. His hazy thoughts had turned to Ginny, and he'd felt his stomach tighten with anxiety. _Is she going through this too? _Severus had wondered desperately. _Perhaps they already have -- but how could she stand it? What if -- no!_ He'd refused to think about the fact that Ginny may have been tortured to death for the amusement of her captors, bearing not only her own punishment, but being killed or brutalized as payback for Severus' betrayal. Cringing, he had scarcely heard the cruel laughter of the Death Eaters, or Bellatrix's request.

"May I be the one to kill him, my Lord? Please, it would be such an honour." Bellatrix had sneered at Severus' crumpled form. "He has been a thorn in my side for too long, forever arrogant and deceitful, too given to a weakling's sympathies. Allow me, please!"

"Not so hasty, Bellatrix," Voldemort had corrected her. "No, I do not believe we will permit Severus the luxury of dying by your wand. I'll not have his life ended with a simple spell. It will not be enough, to kill him. I want him destroyed, utterly."

If Bellatrix had harboured disappointment, she'd disguised it well. "Yes, my Lord," she had exclaimed eagerly. "Too right! But how shall we destroy him?

Voldemort had smiled; his grin was inhuman. "I believe I have a way."

Grimacing at the pain, Severus lifted his head a fraction of an inch off the ground, his eyes open to the nothingness that surrounded him. He could not tell how large the room enclosing him was, but he guessed it was quite spacious because of the way in which the sound of his sharp gasp carried. It would be the Dark Lord's way, he knew, to add a bit of psychological torture, to amuse himself by playing mind games with his victims. Had Severus ever disclosed a hint of claustrophobia, he might have found himself shut inside an iron maiden or locked inside some sort of coffin, but it appeared that Voldemort had found a better means of tormenting him, offering the large cell, allowing Severus to fall into the trap of believing that he might still warrant special treatment. After all, he had not been dragged down to the Malfoy dungeons with the other prisoners. Severus knew that Voldemort would offer no reprieve, though, and therefore felt no last shimmer of bright hope at his predicament.

From a great distance away came the sound of a door grating open on rusted hinges. Severus' eyes stung as a sliver of golden light appeared, but he stared anyway, wondering whether he was being brought out for another round of torture, or if his executioner had come. However, no Death Eater entered the cell. Severus saw someone else, bent double in pain, tossed in through the door. The figure leapt up and began to scrabble for release, which provoked Death Eater laughter.

"You'll never see the sun again, not unless you cooperate, do you hear me?" shouted Bellatrix Lestrange as she flung her prisoner back into the huge hall with Severus. Her laughter was outraged. "You don't want us to have to apply the Cruciatus again, do you? You'd better shape up, or it's Imperio for you again -- you won't have a choice!"

The cell door slammed closed with a metallic clang and the figure stumbled a few steps away from it, into the darkness. Severus could hear the dry, rasping sound of someone heaving for breath, and forced himself to sit up, suddenly alert despite the strain of his muscles. With every sense, he reached out, exploring. There was nothing to see, not now that the great door had been closed, casting the room into darkness again, but Severus could hear the catch of breath as his cell mate realised someone else was in the hall with him. He could feel only the chilly, resisting scrape of stone beneath him as he crept forward, half-dragging himself along, as his legs seemed not to want to cooperate. He scented familiar skin.

"Ginevra?"

It was not Ginny. Severus knew that the second the words emerged from his mouth, possibly before, but hope had carried him for a few more seconds, until he heard a shaky, gentle voice reach him from far away.

"He -- Hello? Whose there?"

_Lupin_, Severus thought, marvelling. "Lupin, is that you?"

"Severus? Merlin -- I've been so worried! When I heard -- once I realised --"

They each stumbled forward, searching for one another in the dark. Remus, who had been lamenting an injury to his arm which he had received after a particularly unfortunate meeting with Bellatrix and Greyback, forgot his pain as he felt Severus' cool fingers grab hold of his wrist. His own hands flew to the other man. For a moment, he felt nothing but relief at being reunited with someone he knew was on his side. After an instant, though, he panicked.

"Severus -- what's happened to you?" Even without a werewolf's senses, Remus could have detected the scent of rich blood on Severus and the way the man sucked in his breath with pain at a touch. "What did they do to you?"

Ignoring this, Severus slid his hand over Remus' shoulder, grateful for the contact despite the hurt. He was used to being cold -- the basement office, and his former classroom in the dungeons of Hogwarts had always been drafty, but he felt ignited by touch. "I don't know what's happened to her, Lupin. Ginevra, I -- I don't know what they've done." Mournful and filled with guilt, he sank with unprecedented weakness into the other man's arm, wanting blessed forgiveness in the form of the tender way Remus stroked his hair. "She could be dead already," he said, his voice thick as he permitted himself to explore painful memories.

"Ginny?" Remus asked, surprised as he felt Severus press his forehead against his shoulder. He reached out tentatively, touching his hair. "You didn't know? She escaped, Severus, she got away."

Severus' knees buckled beneath him, and he slid unwillingly down, his hands clutching at Remus' robes. He could feel the other man's hands clasp hold of his shoulders, making to help him back up, but for the moment, Severus was incapable of it. He remained there on his knees, gasping for control over his breath, his choked tears dampening the un-tucked hem of Remus' shirt and the hip of his trousers. He wanted to have the strength to push Remus away, to stalk off and withdraw to his own corner; instead, he held fistfuls of Remus' clothes and fought with himself for control over his breathing. Presently, Remus sank down to the ground as well, feeling it was inappropriate to remain standing in the presence of someone so distraught, and the two men held each other in the darkness.

"You're sure?" Severus asked when he managed to tamp down his emotions. He wanted to berate himself; hadn't he sworn after Lily died he'd never get close enough to have to care for anyone again? Yet, the merciless pawing of desperation at his soul was almost welcome; he certainly felt more alive, connected to the world, with it, a sensation he had forgotten. He wiped his eyes, feeling grimy with the lingering sting of salt tears. "You're certain she got away?"

"Absolutely," Remus confirmed. "I overheard several Death Eaters talking about it. They were furious, naturally, but not just because of that; Peter helped her." He shook his head, which had still not processed the information that his old friend turned nemesis had shown at last a streak of decency. "They killed him -- Avery did it. But he got her out of there. I don't know where she is, but I'm sure she's safe. They haven't been happy around here, so she has got to still be free." Gnawing his lip, Remus frowned. "Severus, I have to tell you--"

Severus managed to find Remus' mouth in the darkness. His original thought was to press a finger to Lupin's lips, to silence the apology he knew would be forthcoming. In another time and place, he might have allowed himself rage, but he knew Remus had not told any of his secrets willingly. However, as he slid forward, it was his mouth, clamped down on Remus', that he used to silence the other man.

Remus felt an explosion of heat hit him square in the stomach as he felt Severus' hot breath billowing over his cheek, the other man's tongue wrenching past the barrier of his lips. His hands fluttered useless for a moment, dancing over Severus' shoulders, his hands, and finally coming to rest one against Severus' hip, the other arm wrapped around Severus' neck, dragging him downward and forward. Remus could feel Severus' resistance to his sudden dominance, but the moon was waxing far away, hidden behind the brilliant glow of the yellow sun neither of them could see, but nonetheless providing fuel for Remus' passion.

_It's not like Ginevra_, Severus had a moment of clarity to reflect as he found himself toppling down upon Remus' suddenly prone form. Remus had too much strength, too much control, and moreover, the experience to put his skills to work. Already, Severus could feel Remus ripping away his shirt. The werewolf had flung his wrists free of the simple rope binding them -- _Hawthorne's work_, Severus supposed, _he never was much for binding spells _-- almost the second he had been thrown into the cell, but based on Remus' sudden show of force, Severus guessed he could have escaped much stronger bonds. Remus' sharp teeth grazed Severus' neck, and Severus decided to show that he was not so docile, despite the wounds that still stole blood from his body.

Catching Remus' chin, Severus forced the man back, pushing him roughly to the floor. The werewolf's eyes glowed opalescent in the darkness, studying him as though he had been scolded and wanted a good sulk, but Severus had other ideas in mind. He snapped his fingers; Remus' trousers faced a brutal attack by invisible knives, which obliterated the fabric, leaving nothing but scraps and thread upon the floor. Severus had a moment to realise with surprise what he had done; reacting automatically like an untrained wizard child, he had let the magic flow from him without control or thought. The next moment, though, his thoughts were too consumed with forcing the werewolf down on his stomach to dwell on his erratic magic. Shaking with abrupt desire, Severus administered a sharp bite to Remus' shoulder and smirked, feeling Remus trembling beneath him. The other man was feral, but for a moment, contained. Not one to let his opportunities pass, Severus mounted the other man, one hand planted firmly in the centre of Remus' back, the other balancing himself as he slid between Remus' thighs, wrenching them forcefully apart.

Face down against the stone floor, Remus could feel Severus shifting above him. His hands grappled with stone, and he bared his teeth. There were things he needed to share with the other man, important issues to discuss, but they were lost as the tidal wave of passion came roaring through him. He could remember his first time with Sirius -- Sirius who never would have dreamed of being so rough -- in the soft, warm bed in the boy's dormitory, sixth year. Sirius had kissed him, gentle pecks, surprisingly skilful, and Remus had remained mostly still, too shy to give more evidence of his passion than the glow in his eyes. If someone had told him then that he would ever be spread-eagled on the floor before Severus Snape, he would have turned furiously scarlet and found them ridiculous; and yet, here he was.

There was nothing else for it; Severus licked his fingers for lubrication before sliding his hand along his erection, soaking it as best he could through his impatience. Then, arcing forward, he slid himself along Remus' inner thigh, then entered. It was brutal, it had to be; neither of them were prepared to wait. Remus sucked in breath through clenched teeth at the sudden pain, but forced himself to relax, a situation he found much easier once Severus' reached around him and gently stroked him, sending shivers of pleasure through his body.

Severus could hear the man beneath him panting, though all he could see was the vague green glow of Lupin's eyes as they somehow picked up on whatever miniscule light had filtered into the room. Had the light been on, he would have see Remus' feral canines clenched, his fingers hooked into claws dragging across the floor for purchase. Remus, so mild, was never submissive in the bedroom, not even when bedroom was so loosely defined as a stone floor in a Death Eater stronghold. Shaking through his pleasure as he felt Severus' hands upon him, Remus closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation. His legs trembled uncontrollably as Severus thrust into him, and for the moment, he did not fight.

Still, when it was all over and the lingering traces of ecstasy gave way to the chill that permeated the room, Remus remembered his guilt, and his fear. None of the Death Eaters had been foolhardy enough to tell him what would come; "we can't ruin the surprise, little Lupin," Bellatrix had crooned before dissolving into laughter. Still, Remus listened well, and marvelled at how often the Death Eaters mistook his patient observation for dull-wittedness and spilled secrets in front of him. He knew, therefore, that they had decided not to kill Severus outright, but wanted an elaborate, drawn-out torture for him. Once, he had heard mention of the pureblood phobia of werewolves as well, and Rowle and Burgess speculating upon whether or not that was the thing Severus was most horrified and disgusted by. He had an inkling.

"Severus?" Remus spoke softly into the humid darkness. The air was thick with the smell of sex, still tinged with warmth from the heat of their united bodies, and Remus blushed, grateful for the dark.

"Lupin?" came Severus' reply.

"I have to tell you --"

"I know the Dark Lor -- Voldemort," Severus spat, changing his tone abruptly. There was no more reason to feign allegiance. "I know he performed Legilimency on you, if that is what you are bursting to say." He smoothed his robes and settled a hand on Remus' shoulder. It was not like him to be so touchy; normally, Severus abstained from physical contact whenever possible, either out of a sense of obligation to lost love, or because he felt too unattractive and unworthy, but Remus rarely judged, and Severus doubted the other man would shrug away his hand. "There is nothing any of us can do about it now, so put it out of your mind. Voldemort is extremely powerful, I would not have expected you nor any one else to hold up against his Legilimency." Choosing to try the tactful route for once, Severus did not mention that he himself had long been capable of the feat. "They would have found out another way, if not through you."

Remus reached up, placing his hand over Severus' own. "Yes, well, I would have preferred that. However, there is something else."

"Oh?" He spoke only a single word, but Severus suddenly radiated tension.

"They aren't going to change their minds, are they? Let you go, invite you back in?"

Severus' laugh was dry. "Doubtful, Lupin. Voldemort is not known for his mercy, and the possibility of a second chance seems rather a stretch, doesn't it?" The world came crashing back down around his shoulders, full of blinding, uncomfortable reality, which intimacy with Remus had temporarily chased away. He was in a cell, however spacious, and he was quite certain he was on Malfoy property, which he knew from experience was extremely well fortified with charms and hexes. He had betrayed Voldemort, who, whatever Severus' show of bravery, still possessed more dark powers then Severus assumed Albus Dumbledore had even known of. His wand was gone, and he had not even so much as a pocket knife or sliver of glass with which to make a weapon.

"I thought not," Remus said gently. "Severus, I heard them speaking. Rowle, Burgess, Bellatrix, a few others. They -- I think they mean to do worse than kill you."

Severus frowned. "Meaning?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, they mean to curse you -- something worse than death." Remus swallowed, and looked around the room nervously, as if he might see something move in the inky shadows. "We're both locked in here, together."

Impatiently, Severus nodded vigorously. "Yes?"

Licking his bottom lip nervously, Remus squeezed Severus' fingers. "We're trapped together in a room with no way out -- and Severus? The moon goes full tomorrow night."


	21. Loup Lumineux

**Loup Lumineux**

_He, frighted, to the silent Desart flies;_

_There howles, and speech with lost indeauour tries._

_His selfe-like jawes still grin: more then for food_

_He slaughters beasts, and yet delights in blood._

_His armes to thighs, his clothes to bristles chang'd;_

_A Wolfe; not much from his first forme estrang'd:_

_So horie hair'd; his lookes so full of rape;_

_So fiery ey'd; so terrible his shape_.

-- Ovid's "_Metamorphoses_", book one; a description of Lycaon, translated in 1632 by George Sandys

One minute, she was standing on firm ground on the roadside beyond Severus Snape's home at Spinner's End. The next moment, Ginny Weasley was plummeting out of the sky headfirst, her body tossed carelessly by high winds as she fell, screaming in spite of herself, and collided with the sharp branch of a particularly ruthless pine tree. A piece of ragged bark tore open the skin of her left cheek, but there was hardly time to consider the smarting wound, because Ginny tipped forward again, lost her balance as well as her tremulous hold on the fistful of pine needles, and fell the remaining twenty feet onto the forest floor.

"Mer -- Merlin," she managed, staggering upright after a few moments. As Severus had taught her, she raised Peter's wand and ran it gingerly over her legs, then her arms, and nervously over her torso and stomach, checking for damage with a revealing spell. The white light glowing faintly from the tip of the borrowed wand never flickered red for an instant, and Ginny drew a deep breath. Then, abruptly, her legs gave out and she fell to the ground, dissolving into tears.

For a long while, she remained mostly still and only semi-conscious, her face pressed against the warm, matted carpet of dead pine needles and crunchy old leaves. Underneath them, she could scent the loamy smell of the dirt, and something crisp and green that might have been moss, and the metallic, earthy sensation of the leaves as they crumbled into dust. It was comforting, despite the fact that the wind flew over her, stealing her bodily warmth. Ginny knew, of course, how to create fire from nothingness, and how to cast a decent warming spell even without the potion Severus had preferred, but she could not be bothered. All she could manage was to rein in her frenetic breathing and try to get some control over her flailing heart.

After some time, during which she might have dozed, Ginny sat up, blinking in the semi-darkness. It had been pitch night when she had taken hold of the wand -- a Portkey, she realized now, marvelling both at the fact Pettigrew had managed such a complicated spell, and that he had done it for _her_. However, the darkness was on the run, chased away by a silvery-blue edging on the horizon that indicated impending dawn. Her surroundings were too clogged with trees for Ginny to see properly, but a hint of bluish light managed to filter through the canopy, and she allowed the sight of it to strengthen her.

"Where am I?" Ginny asked aloud, giving over to the mad hope that Severus might be there by her side. She knew better, of course; she was nearly of age now, and certainly an independent-minded witch even at the worst of times, but for an instant she clung desperately to the notion that he was wandering through the trees, his black robes flapping eagerly, his dark eyes narrowed and searching. She even managed a tremulous "Severus?" before deciding to accept the reality of her situation, which meant determining where she was, ensuring that she was safe, and deciding what to do next.

* * *

The rusty door groaned in protest as it was dragged open, and Remus, glancing over his shoulder, felt his heart sink as his solemn golden eyes met Bellatrix Lestrange's haughty dark ones. The witch seemed in particularly good cheer, her thin lips forced into a smirking smile. Holding out her wand, she spoke the spell for light and sent a thin circle of glowing white to rise within the room. Severus, waking from a doze, shielded his eyes at the sight of it, wondering what was going on, but Remus recognised it instantly; an imitation of the moon. Trailing his glance upwards, he followed the miniature orbit of the shining sphere, sickened by the sight of it, but unable to tear his eyes away.

"Have a nice morning?" Bellatrix hissed, waving her wand so that the sphere dissolved back into nothingness, returning the room to darkness. Her sneer was a bit too knowing, and she stabbed a finger in Severus' direction. "Traitor -- defiling yourself with a werewolf. You disgust me. Oh yes, the Dark Lord knows," she added with a sharp look at Remus. "Can you feel him, exploring your mind even now, Lupin? Your eyes give him vision, and he can read your thoughts like today's issue of the Daily Prophet. Don't try and fight," Bellatrix advised as Remus pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes in concentration. "You are nowhere near as powerful armed, and nothing without your wand."

Biting his lip to avoid responding to her taunts, for he knew it would only earn him increased punishment to reply, Remus slunk backwards slightly, his eyes narrowed as he glared silently in her direction. He came to rest a bit behind Severus, who had risen to his feet and staggered towards Bellatrix.

"Come to play, Bella?" Severus inquired. His words were mild, but his tone was cruel. "Voldemort has no better use for you, I see."

In response, her face whitened, and she stabbed her wand at Severus. "Sectumsempra!" she screamed at the top of her voice, and Severus had a moment to stare at her, startled by the sound of his own invented curse ringing in his ears, before the spell hit him. A dozen blades opened his mending flesh, leaving deep gouges in his skin. Blood flowed freely from his shocked face as he sank down to the ground, unable to bear his own weight on his right leg, which had faced a gruesome attack that had severed the tendon of his ankle. Bellatrix' laughter rang coldly in Severus' ears. "You think you can insult me, Snape? You, wandless, powerless -- there is nothing more you can accomplish." Her facial expression changed to one of pure hatred. "Your betrayal will be the death of you, and the destruction of the werewolf's soul!" she shouted. "How could you have been so stupid? Did you think you would never be found out?"

With shaking hands, Severus examined his injured leg. He could feel the sting of sweat dripping into the wound on his face, but he had no time to pay it any mind. Blood was seeping through his trousers, and he realised they had been torn; Bellatrix had not only hurt his ankle, but her curse had torn open his thigh, severing an artery. He covered the wound, but blood poured through his fingers, unwilling to be staunched. "What --" he began, but the words failed him, and he wondered if she intended him to bleed to death.

"Just a little paper cut, Snape," she teased, remembering her words to him in his house. "Enough to spill a drop of blood, to give the werewolf the scent." Her smile was pristine; in another lifetime, she might have been beautiful, standing there tall and confident, her robes falling over her curves, dark hair trailing down her back. However, there was too much cruelty in her face for her to ever be considered lovely. "They can detect it from miles away, you know, just the scent on the wind, though of course, that won't be necessary tonight. It's such a small hall, really. Consummate predators, werewolves," she added, with a respectful glance at Remus, who was ashen. "Skilful hunters, whatever their reputation. They can tell when their prey is wounded; according to the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, they prefer to attack when they know the prey had been injured."

Remus shook, his eyes beseeching. "No, please --"

However, Severus interrupted him. His voice was weak, but steady. "Your plan is to have Lupin kill me, is that it?" There was an edge of distain in his voice. "How predictable."

Bellatrix snickered. "Oh, we shall see, won't we. You're strong, but not strong enough, Snape. You will die."

Remus looked horrified, but Severus merely shrugged, continuing to press down on the gaping cut on his leg. "There are worse things," he said, his voice decidedly strong as he considered the possible fate. Noting the ugly look on Bellatrix' face, he smiled slightly, affecting ease. "So it's intended for me to die by a werewolf's hands? Inform your lord," he went on, rage in his voice, though the volume did not increase, "that I have already suffered the worst torture imaginable. Nothing he can do to me now will compare to the death of Lily Evans." Sneering, he released his leg; the blood had begun to clot, though his trousers were soaked with it. "Tell him," he added forcefully. "And tell him I welcome death, whether it comes from his wand or is delivered to me via Lupin's teeth."

Furious with her game being spoiled, Bellatrix crossed her arms angrily over her chest. "It'll devastate him," she said pointedly, her eyes flicking towards Remus.

"I give him permission," Severus retorted coldly. "Let him do what he will, with no regrets. It wouldn't be his fault anyway, nor anything he could control. He'll still be guiltless in that respect."

Glowering at the two of them for a moment, Bellatrix then turned away, beckoning Lucius Malfoy over to her side. He came, and she smiled, evil lighting her eyes with renewed bliss. "Well, then, perhaps you feel no concern over the state of your soul, Lupin," she said crisply, "not that you should, over the death of one such as Snape. However, I'm sure you, at least, would be tormented by the thought of an innocent ripping apart their soul with murder? Yes?" she prompted.

"Oh Bellatrix," Remus said softly. "Don't you ever tire of this? We know Ginevra escaped."

Instead of grimacing with disappointment at his reaction, Bellatrix' smile widened. "So, you think you know the game, do you? Well, Lupin, permit me to shock you. I was going to wait until later, but evening is fast on the rise and the moon will be full and shining in little more than an hour, so I'll go ahead and ruin the surprise now. Lucius, bring him."

Severus and Remus exchanged a nervous, questioning glance as Bellatrix stepped back from the door, leaving only her shadow. Lucius Malfoy appeared in the doorway, but neither man paid him any heed. They were both staring at the small, snarling child, his wrists bound and attached to a leash that Lucius held tightly in his hands. The boy's eyes were shining like platinum in the dimness, and his mouth was open, exposing white teeth filed down to perfect points. He was feral, his hair matted, his skin dirty, the few scraps of fabric that had once been neat robes hand-made by Nymphadora ragged and hanging off his shoulders and hips.

"If that Lupin doesn't get you," Bellatrix laughed at Severus as she pointed at Remus, "this one will. And thanks to Fenrir's training, you might not even have to wait for night to fall." With that, she nodded to Lucius, who managed a distasteful grimace as he pushed the filthy boy through the doorway and slammed the door.

* * *

The undergrowth was thick, blocking out most of the pearly sheen of the dewy sunlight that bravely attempted to penetrate the dense foliage, but there was enough light for Ginny to see by, at any rate, and she moved forward as quickly as she could. She had forgotten the spell that indicated the direction, and cursed herself under her breath for it, remembering how easily the charm had come to her when she had trained at Quidditch and how she'd found virtually no trouble at all in casting it during various summer afternoons out exploring with Ron or the twins.

Thinking of her brothers, she cringed, futile anger and sadness threatening to trouble her, but Ginny managed, with some difficulty, to force her thoughts to more direct matters pertaining to her survival. As she walked, she gave herself a brief assessment. Her nightgown was in shambles, but at least it was still there; though dirt-streaked, it had clung to her shoulders, and was only a bit torn and sullied with muck. She had some scratches on her legs and face, and a stinging cut on her arm which she supposed would bother her eventually, but nothing life-threatening. Her feet were bare, and injured from running up the street at Spinner's End, but they felt all right walking upon the soft blanket of pine needles and furry moss. There was nothing to eat, no one to help her, but at least she had the wand, if any spells would occur to her. She wondered if she had bumped her head when she had fallen out of the sky clinging to Peter's Portkey wand. If so, there was no pain, and Ginny was reasonably certain she would recall useful magic soon enough. _In any case_, she mused, _all I have to do now is keep walking_.

After a time -- it might have been several hours, based on the soreness of Ginny's feet and her exhaustion, and the way the sun had swelled brighter bronze above her -- Ginny realised that she was hearing voices. She froze, instantly crouching down as if to hide behind a scraggly white pine sticky with sap, her head ducked behind some tall weeds. There were voices, definitely, but they did not sound like Death Eaters. In fact, Ginny realised as she hovered there, arms over her head as though expecting to be hit with a bludger at any moment, the voices seemed to belong to children.

"I bet not even you can trump that, Foley," chided one, a young boy who sounded, to Ginny's curious ears, both stuck-up and Slytherin. "Six Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff, all wasting a perfectly good Saturday in detention thanks to me."

"Big deal," said his companion, another young male voice, with a tone of disappointment. Ginny could hear the muffled thump where he kicked the ground unhappily with the toe of his trainer.

"Professor Carrow certainly thought I did well," came the reply. "Said I showed right proper loyalty to the Dark Lord, and that Headmaster Snape would have been proud to see such a show of bravery from his favourite house."

Sniffing, the second boy wondered, "where is the headmaster, anyway? He's not been in his office lately, so I've heard. My brother's the Head Boy now, you know, and he's supposed to meet with Snape regularly for reports." It was obvious the boy was trying to bolster his credentials and make himself important, for he added, "You know he's considering me for prefect next year, when Draco Malfoy leaves school, don't you? Said himself I'm the reliable sort, and me only a third year."

"He's gone on the Dark Lord's orders, I guess," was the answer. "Doesn't have time to sit in that office all day I suppose. Blimey, but I wish he would come back. I can't stand that old wretch they have for Deputy, nasty old McGonagall." His voice went low. "I wish they'd interrogate her on her family tree. If you ask me, she's entirely too lenient on half-bloods. It shows an inappropriate love for filthy Mudbloods, according to my father." Snorting in disgust, he added "Nasty blood traitors, they're just a bad as Mudblood filth themselves."

"Worse!"

"There are so many of them around these days, it's just a disgrace. Longbottom, for one. Did you see him the other day, telling off Professor Carrow when she said we ought to round up Muggles and burn them, like they tried to do to us in the old days? He said she was off her rocker and that he'd be more proud to have sullied Muggle blood in those veins of his than the pure blood he's got!"

"He didn't dare! Really? That's where he got those scars across his face then, isn't it?"

"Most likely. Course, it didn't shut him up, he's either stupid or suicidal, but he kept it up until Professor Carrow gave him the Cruciatus. I suppose he's left school now and gone into hiding, if he's got any brains at all. She's out for his blood now. Apparently she's decided that pureblood or not, Longbottom is a liability. Well, she's right, naturally. Can't have blood traitors like that spreading that madness around for people to hear!"

After a while, the sound of the boys' conversation drifted away, and Ginny righted herself, dusting off bits of dried leaves as she marvelled at the place in which she had found herself. _Hogwarts! He sent me to the Forbidden Forest! _She had heard Remus speak at length about his exploits in his youth, and he had mentioned patrolling the forest on enchanted nights in his werewolf state alongside his closest friends, among which Peter had counted himself. She was surprised, but pleasantly so, that Hogwarts was the destination to which Peter had sent her. He had sent her as close as he could to the school, probably assuming she could find her bearings from there, and Ginny was grateful as she crept cautiously forward, taking care not to trod upon and snap any twigs, lest someone be alerted to her presence.

The grounds were as manicured as usual, the grass dark green and vibrant, though obscured with a low level of chill fog. The presence of the murky, dense fog was easily explained as Ginny looked westward, to the place where black-garbed Dementors floated, seeking shade. Their cloaks ruffled as though in the wind, though Ginny felt only the mildest breeze here, hidden near the copse of trees. Hogwarts castle stood tall and imposing, and Ginny was struck by the memory of the first night she had laid eyes upon it. How majestic the spires had seemed, how menacing the dark façade, and the lapping, chilly waters as they sailed in rickety boats. It was frightening now, because she knew it was no longer home, no longer safe. If she entered, she would not be ushered into a warm hall with tables laid with feast, nor invited to settle down in her warm bed, the hangings closed around her. There would be no treacle tart, nor pumpkin juice, nor Harry Potter over which to fawn with that tiresome, childish crush. Not even Snape's cold, dungeon classroom -- she started a little, remembering the Snape she had detested, so different from the Severus she missed -- was open to her now.

Apparition was impossible on Hogwarts grounds, but Ginny knew the Forest had no boundaries or rules. It resisted magic and control, growing wild and untamed in defiance of wizard kind and the laws they set. Smiling, Ginny took out her wand and clutched it with both hands. She had been too young to learn how to Apparate during her Hogwarts days, though Fred and George, either out of kindness or, more likely, a desire to tease her if she got splinched, had often given in to the temptation to grab her elbow and pull her Side-Along. Severus, a better teacher, had gone further, giving her not only the theory but his advice on technique. She had never managed it before, but she was prepared to try again. Screwing up her concentration and courage, Ginny took a deep breath and whispered to herself, "the Burrow!"

* * *

"Teddy!" Remus cried, trying to grasp the shoulders of the small boy who struggled in his arms. In the light of a flickering candle -- Lucius Malfoy's parting gift to Severus, to chase away the darkness -- the boy's features were a mass of rage. His eyes shone wildly, a pinkish sheen across his irises. There were cuts along his lips and chin, and -- Remus swallowed, feeling nauseated -- the lingering, angry purple of a fairly recent scar winding it's way across the boy's forehead, down his cheek and over the bridge of his nose. Fenrir had not been kindly, but had gone far beyond what was necessary to convert the boy to his kind.

"Teddy, stop it!" Remus said as the child snapped his jaws at him. "Teddy, listen to me!" He shook the boy's shoulders a bit roughly, hoping it might snap his young son out of whatever madness consumed him, but it was to no avail. The boy hooked his hands to claws and slapped at his father, scratching and clawing for freedom. Remus took the blow, surprisingly hefty, from his son's fist, feeling his eyes smart with tears at the sharp pain, as well as his rising horror at the beast his little boy had become. "God! Teddy, please!"

From the corner, Severus gripped the candle tightly, ignoring the stinging flow of hot melted wax over his fingers. Already, an inch of the candle had burned down, and he knew it was unlikely to last until the transformation. Anyway, he did not want to see. He had watched Remus change before, his body bending, his spine curving and lengthening, his limbs growing strange and furred, his eyes losing the impassioned humanity and becoming cold and blank and soulless. Severus had no desire to watch that again, nor to see Remus' face in agony as he experienced the pain and terror of becoming a monster out of control, intent on seeking and killing prey.

"Let him go, Lupin," Severus spoke, watching as Remus, on his knees, gave his son a stern shake. The boy's full head of hair faded from blue to pale grey, his teeth grew to canine fangs with sharp points, despite the absence of the moon, and Severus remembered the woman who had been the child's mother, Nymphadora Tonks, Metamorphmagus. Ah, how Greyback would have exploited that, Severus considered. A werewolf child that did not have to wait for the full moon to transform. However, it did not seem that Teddy was completely aware of what he was doing; the transition seemed unconscious, and stopped, leaving him an awkward mixture of human and wolf. "You may as well let him do it now. Go ahead, let him bite; maybe I'll bleed to death before the moon grows full." His eyes glittered menacingly and defiant. "He won't be able to kill me, it'll be you who does it if you wait."

Remus' eyes shone desperate, and he grabbed Teddy's hand as the boy made to wrench himself free of Remus' sweaty hands. "No, I won't. You're hurt badly enough all ready, I don't know if you've survive another wound at this point."

Severus' laugh was dry, joyless. "Does it really matter if I wait an hour for death? I'm not going to leave this room alive, Lupin, we both know that. You must admit, a slow death, falling asleep from lack of blood, is a much kinder end than being torn apart by two werewolves….one of whom is apparently suffering from hydrophobia," he added with a glance toward Teddy, who was foaming slightly at the mouth as he fought his father, wanting to seek out the bleeding man in the corner. As if it was of little interest, Severus considered the boy. "Let him loose, Lupin, or he'll just keep fighting you. That's not your boy anymore, not really."

"He's my son!" For a moment, Remus was hit by the memory of nearly abandoning Nymphadora immediately prior to Teddy's birth, and the guilt shook him. There was nothing he could do about that now, of course, and his desertion had not contributed to their predicament, but still, he felt disgusted with himself, and ashamed.

"No, he's not!" answered Severus sharply. He shuffled to his feet, hating the weakness of his wounded body. His damaged leg tingled, a pins and needles sensation of numbness fading, and his skin felt stretched by the spread of dried blood across him. With one hand, he caught hold of the wall, feeling his head spin with the dizziness that came from a loss of blood. _Should have cut me harder_, Bella, he thought belligerently, _I won't bleed to death like this, or if I do it'll take ages_. The thought occurred to him that she had not intended to make his demise so easy, and he grimaced, hating that arrogant, smirking face. He was right on the edge, healthy enough that he would heal in time if allowed, hurt enough to make it virtually impossible to fight off even the child werewolf. _Cub_, he thought, with a modicum of amusement. "There is nothing left of the boy, Lupin. You can see that as plainly as I can. He's a monster now, a creature, one of Greyback's kind. You don't have to like it," he added, noting the slow, plump tears rolling down Remus' cheeks, "but you will accept it."

Teddy made a savage leap for Severus, who was creeping slowly forth, hoisting the candle overhead with one hand and keeping his balance against the wall with the other. Remus, shocked, felt his boy's hand slide out of his, but he grabbed Teddy in time, forcing him down to the ground. The boy fell harder than Remus had intended, and he winced as his son cried out in pain: a mewling, keening sort of sound that did not belong in a human mouth. Pinning him there, the snarling child's wrists clamped in his own tight grip, Remus pressed one hand firmly down on the boy's back. His voice was deadly, thick with rage and quavering slightly with intensity of feeling. "I will not," he said coldly, "allow my son to kill." He glared fiercely at Severus. "Not anyone. Not even you."

Sensing his legs would not carry him much further, Severus settled for sliding down the wall onto the floor. He slapped his torn thigh impatiently, used to his body functioning according to his desires, not succumbing to pain or exhaustion until he granted himself permission. The tight control was gone now, and he held the candle tightly, glad for the punishment of burning wax.

"You'll have no choice, in an hour," he pointed out.

"A lot can happen in an hour," Remus answered resentfully, though he knew it was extremely unlikely anything would change.

"I want it over with, Lupin. I don't want to wait. This candle won't hold out much longer, and then I won't know what's coming for me, in the darkness. It'll be worse, then."

"Severus --"

"Consider it!" Feebly, Severus made himself sit up straighter. He tilted his chin, proudly, as though it might make him feel better. "How would you feel, alone in the dark, your only company two prowling beasts searching for you?"

Distraught, Remus bowed his head "Don't make me decide what happens to you, Severus. I won't do it. I won't let him go."

"Teddy!" Severus said sharply. "Teddy, here!" He flung out his arm, which had been splattered with his own blood. The blood had dried, but the scent remained. "Come on!"

"Seve --" Remus began, but he did not have time to finish the name.

Beneath him, Teddy scrambled up, exhibiting force completely out of line with the expected strength for a child of his age. He opened his mouth, exposing a full line of jagged, razor-sharp teeth. His nose elongated, twisting into a wolfish snout, and his back curved, resembling the posture of a dog ready to leap and bite. On all fours, he hurried forth, his body bristling with white fur as he went, a strangled sound which might have been howling emerging from his throat.

"Teddy -- no!" Remus cried, jumping up and throwing himself in the direction the boy had taken, but Teddy was already running full-tilt towards Severus, who had paled considerably but who still held his bruised arm out in offering. "Teddy!"

Remus' words were drowned out as Severus shouted in pain. Teddy's mouth had clamped firmly over his arm, the teeth sunken deep within the flesh, though there was nothing human left on the boy, who no longer resembled a confusing blend of canine and wizard features, but who was simply a small white wolf, growling furiously, shaking the victim grasped in his mouth. A few droplets of blood stained Teddy's muzzle claret, but this did not deter him. He flew forward again, this time biting at Severus' leg despite the wizard's attempt to kick him away. His eyes shone inhumanly bronze; they were pupil-less, Severus had time to note before Remus grasped the snapping, flailing wolf cub and flung it from him in the opposite direction, a look of pure horror on his face.

"Severus!" Remus screamed, beside himself with shock and dismay. He looked at the white wolf that had been his son, which had curled defensively in the corner. Teddy growled, licking his leg, which had been bruised by Severus' sharp kick, but he made no move to rise and attack again, instinctively feeling two wizards were his match, even if one of them was bleeding freely.

Pulling his own hair, Remus shook his head frantically. "Severus! What were you -- how could you --" His voice gave out and he crumpled to the ground, utterly devoid of energy, unable to articulate the anger and misery he felt inside. "He -- you --" he managed finally, stammering incoherently. "How did you -- what were you thinking? What have you accomplished now?" He stabbed a finger in the direction of Severus' arm, which the other man was gingerly prodding with a look of resolution and acceptance on his face. "You won't die from that, it's not deep enough, but you'll not heal properly either. Don't you know what happens when you're bitten by a non-transformed werewolf? Didn't you see what happened to Bill Weasley, when he was bitten by Greyback? Scarred -- changed -- never wholly human again --"

"But he was," Severus pointed out gravely, sucking in his breath as he probed a particularly painful bite. "Transformed," he added, at Remus' confusion. "Not by the moon, Lupin, but look at him!" Pointing towards Teddy, who had given over to the wolf inside and remained solidly, undoubtedly lupine, Severus nodded with some satisfaction despite the pain. "They," he began, utterly a low laugh. "They thought that would be the worst thing, worse than death. Bellatrix, Rookwood -- you've seen the way they look when they mention your…affliction. They thought I'd rather die than be a werewolf." His features contorted in pain, but he smiled faintly. "They'd be wrong."

"And you think --" Remus said, shocked.

"I think it worked, yes," said Severus, running his tongue experimentally over his teeth. They seemed sharper, though it was still fifteen minutes from full night. He could feel shooting pains in his stomach, and a strange thick, slow flow of something mysterious in his veins, that poured through him like honey. His heartbeat was rapid, anxious, and he thought, as he stared into the dying light of the guttering candle, of how beautiful it would be to see the moon.


	22. Espoir

**Espoir**

"_Hope" is the thing with feathers—_

_That perches in the soul—_

_And sings the tune without the words—_

_And never stops—at all—_

_And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—_

_And sore must be the storm—_

_That could abash the little Bird_

_That kept so many warm—_

_I've heard it in the chillest land—_

_And on the strangest Sea—_

_Yet, never, in Extremity,_

_It asked a crumb—of Me. -- _Emily Dickinson

* * *

She had not really expected to find it intact, but the sight of the Burrow decimated, in ruins, was still a severe blow to Ginny's morale, as well as her heart.

The old gate near the rambling path that might be called a road by someone generous enough was still there, if off balance. Someone had casually slammed it or perhaps it had been hit with a deflected curse; in any case it wobbled off kilter, swaying gently in the barest of breezes, emitting a shrill, creaky whine. The chicken coop was gone. Only a single wooden slat remained amid a few wind-ruffled chicken feathers as proof it had ever existed. A similar fate had befallen the broom shed. Bits and pieces of singed wood remained, and a few rusty garden supplies, a battered old copy of a Gilderoy Lockhart book on spells to cure infestations of garden gnomes. The brooms were gone, probably stolen, though Ginny could think of no use Death Eaters might have had for a couple of lazy old Comets and her father's antique Silver Arrow. She supposed someone from the neighbourhood may have stumbled by and decided to take them. She hoped they were part of the resistance.

The house itself was still standing, but barely. The front door had been left on the latch, but even if it had been locked, anyone could have found a way in through the five-foot hole blasted into through the kitchen wall, or through one of the shattered windows. Her father, Arthur, had once spelled them unbreakable, Ginny knew, tired of Fred and George's wayward Bludgers pummelling through and sending glass flying, but either the spell had died with him, or someone had removed the charm.

"Oh," Ginny said softly. The weight of what she was seeing, the gravity of the situation, pressed down on her, seeming to force the air out of her lungs. From her vantage point, she could see a large section of the roof was gone. Areas of the house appeared to have caught fire as well. This was the house where the Weasleys had lived, a family packed in side-by-side like sardines. Ginny knew her family had never been destined for wealth, but nor had she gone hungry in the Burrow. If she had wanted for the nicest school robes and books with the bindings still on, she had never lacked comfort, warmth and love. The old house had offered shelter to anyone who knocked on the door, and more often than not had been bustling with guests, come by for dinner or to stay the night.

She found her way inside, using the front door, which was still surrounded by its customary stock of battered old Wellingtons and the ruined thatch doormat. The Death Eaters had not thought to remove that, when they had come. Ginny frowned, wondering whether they had come after her family had been taken into custody, or before. She could remember vividly the sights and sounds of Spain, where the Weasleys had taken retreat temporarily. _We should have stayed. We never should have come back. _Wincing at the loud screech of the door as it opened, she went in.

There was at least an inch of thick grey dust coating the floor, and Ginny was reminded of Grimmauld Place. Just the sight of that dust was surreal. The Weasley home had never been known for an excess of cleanliness, but the sheer amount of people traipsing through had always kept dust off the floor. It had never had time to settle before. A few footprints traced meandering paths through the entryway, and for a moment Ginny started, gripping Peter's wand tightly and preparing for an attack. Then she relaxed. The Death Eaters had not come by in a while, and she could see no further reason why anyone else would. They had what they'd wanted, most of the Weasley family of blood traitors dead, and as her family had always been mocked for their poverty, no one would have come searching for treasures or items of value.

Ginny crept closer to the kitchen door, feeling tears burn. At one point in time, she would have bet money on finding her mother on the other side of that door. Molly had practically lived in the kitchen, constantly shelling potatoes and preparing puddings. There had always been delicious smells drifting under the door, but now, the room simply smelled of dust and mildew. When she cautiously pushed open the door, she saw dirt had been tramped carelessly across the floor. Pots and pans had been cast aside, and Molly's collection of cookbooks was scattered across the counter. She stepped back, allowing the door to close on that scene, and turned her attention to the stairs.

Climbing, she sucked in her breath nervously with every step. The groan of the old stairs underfoot seemed to be magnified a hundredfold, though she had scarcely ever noticed it before. Without the cheerful din of voices, explosions, laughter and reprimands, all the sounds the old place made were impossibly loud.

Whomever had tracked dirt across the kitchen had come up the stairs as well, Ginny saw. They had left a goodly amount of sod as a trail as well. Not Death Eaters, she was reasonably certain, but perhaps neighbours had come to check on the Weasleys and found this scene of destruction. It made sense they would investigate; her father had been friends with many wizards living nearby, most of whom occupied posts in the Ministry. When Arthur and his family had failed to appear after a time at work, school or in the usual shopping locales, it would have aroused suspicion. _That or squatters, maybe_, Ginny mused, slightly nervous. She was unconcerned about homeless Muggles taking up residence in her family's old place, or benign wizards, but the idea of anyone with the most remote Death Eater sympathies using her family's dwelling as shelter made her frightened, and angry.

The dirt tracks stopped at one of the first doors on the left, and Ginny gave it a wide berth, just in case. There was nothing of value in there anyway. It had once been the twins' bedroom, but in later years had become a mere storage room for their excess supplies, items that could not be accommodated in the shop. She was more interested in her own room.

The windows had been burst open. That was the first thing she saw. The rug near the window was covered with broken glass and sopping wet from rain that had come in freely. There was no dust, anyway. The wind had seen to that.

Weak with the rush of sentiment and sorrow that welled up in her, Ginny sat gingerly down upon her bed. Someone had torn the covers back, she was not sure why, but it had not been destroyed, anyway. The rest of the room looked like a small tornado had struck. Her Hogwarts books had been removed from her trunk and thrown carelessly across the floor. The trunk itself had been upended, and the Hogwarts robes she had left inside had been unfolded and mussed, as though someone had pawed through them, looking for something. She could not imagine what; she'd never owned valuables. The nicest quill she owned had been snapped by a careless foot, and her mirror had been cracked. Nothing appeared to be missing except a few framed pictures she usually kept near her bed. One showed her family, another was of her and Hermione and the last had been taken of her on her broomstick during a Quidditch match. They were all gone, and she struggled to decide why. None of them revealed clues of any sort, and even the frames had been cheap.

From below, the door banged upon its hinges, and Ginny got to her feet. _Just the wind_, she told herself, but she knew it was time to leave anyway. As much as she wanted to stay, she could not be certain it was safe. If squatters came, they could be malignant. The Death Eaters knew she had escaped as well, and Ginny felt suddenly cold, imagining they might return to the Burrow to look for her. Anyway, she could not stay in the rain-swept house with the blasted out roof. It was a ruin.

Snatching up a few of her best preserved robes and an armful of Muggle clothes, Ginny stuck them in an old schoolbag that had once been Charlie's. At least she would be able to change out of her pyjamas, making her less obvious to others. Shouldering the bag with a sigh of resolution, Ginny allowed herself one last look at her old bedroom, before hurrying down the hall toward the stairs again.

It hit her, with sudden shock, that the dirt-tracking footprints she had seen leading up the stairs now led down.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Ginny covered her mouth to avoid screaming. Her heart thumped in panic. Someone had been in the house with her. Instantly, her mind was filled with questions. Who had it been? Friend, or foe? What had they been doing here? Furthermore, she wondered, rife with panic, had they known she was in the house? She wondered, terrified, if they had come to harm her, to capture her and drag her back to Voldemort's prisons, perhaps, and if she had narrowly avoided bumping into them by sheer luck. Perhaps they had not heard her as she had climbed the steps, and had left thinking they had explored the Burrow alone. Ginny allowed herself to breathe, but then she startled again, considering that perhaps the person had gone back outside to wait for her. Was there an ambush planned? Would they come for her?

Her hand rested nervously on the cold doorknob that led into the shop storage, and ever so carefully, she turned it, quite afraid of what she might see. The room was mostly bare. The few crates left inside had been opened and rummaged through, and only a few items remained, deemed worthless by whomever had investigated them. A toy wand lay on the floor, and another in the shape of a mackerel rested nearby. There were a few bags of what looked to be sweets, labelled. Some packaging had been scattered across the floor. Otherwise, the room was empty. The windows, unbroken, were cobwebbed and filthy, letting in a dirty, overly bronzed sort of light. The floor was tracked with dirt.

Ginny was on the verge of closing the door again when she noticed the owl. It was hovering outside the grimy window, its claws impatiently scratching for entrance. She had never seen it before; it was certainly not Pig or Errol, nor Hedwig. Tawny feathers gleamed in the late afternoon sun, and its orange eyes observed her carelessly as it scratched again upon the glass.

Screwing up her courage, Ginny walked across the room and stared through the window anxiously for a moment before opening it up wide and allowing the owl to soar in.

Her fingers trembled as she carefully took hold of the owl's outstretched leg, and it took a great deal of fumbling before she managed to unwrap the twist of twine that bound the letter to the creature. It was patient, regarding her with eyes of amber that radiated solace and comfort as Ginny pulled back, scrap of parchment in hand, her heart pounding. She waited, unsure if she should open the note or not, completely at a loss to explain what it contained. Perhaps it was some ancient correspondence that had never been delivered, a note from someone in the Order maybe, intended for her father's eyes. It might be something as mundane as an old Ministry assignment, a quick note advising her father or brothers to return to work early. Maybe it was from somebody long dead, one of the people who had perished in the Malfoy dungeons, who had written a brief letter full of urgent plans and eager motivation. Ginny had absolutely no idea.

The owl leant forward in a fluid movement, its sharp beak nipping Ginny's index finger as she stood there, debating the merits of tearing open the note or tossing it aside on the floor. She did not want grief, to see the ink signature from a dear friend who was no longer alive. There was no point in imagining it could be anything new, she decided. Her family had been vacated from the Burrow for some time, and any fresh correspondence would have found them or been returned to the sender.

"Ouch!" Ginny said as the owl bit. She jerked her hand away. "Okay, okay, I'll open it, if it pleases you." She undid the seal. "Are you waiting to take back my reply?"

In answer, the massive bird spread its wings and took flight again, narrowly missing brushing its wing-tips on the windowsill as it soared off.

Ginny watched it for a moment, as it flew straight towards the evening sun. Then it rose loftily and veered towards the south, returning, perhaps, to its home with the writer of the note, or maybe a public Owlry of sorts. When the last shadow of the large bird had faded from view, Ginny turned to the note, considering it as she winced at the pain in her finger.

Slowly, cautiously, she picked at the red wax onto which a seal was stamped. She did not recognise the marking. It was not from Hogwarts, as neither the crest nor any individual house symbol was represented. There was nothing about it reminiscent of Sirius' home, no illusion of the Black coat of arms or any mention of pure blood. The mark was not of Durmstrang or Beaubatons either. From what she could make out, there was a crooked W and a crossed pair of broomsticks.

"Wimbourne Wasps?" Ginny guessed, puzzling. She did not know anyone who played for the team, aside former player Ludo Bagman, and it seemed unlikely that he would be trying to contact her family, as he and her parents had never been particularly close. It was equally doubtful that the Wigtown Wanderers had posted anything her way. In fact, she could not see why any Quidditch outfit would be trying to reach her, whether British or international. It hardly seemed likely that anyone would be doing recruitment knowing there was a war on and that a significant number of rebels against Voldemort's regime had been imprisoned.

"Just open it already, and get out of here," Ginny told herself out loud, her impatience and eagerness to leave the ruins of her home behind warring with her caution. Tearing the rest of the wax off, she unfolded the wrinkled parchment and smoothed it out against her palm.

The current date had been freshly written in sloppy, hurried hand by a quill; the blue ink had not yet dried and smudged slightly against the paper. Nothing else was written by hand, but Ginny noticed the gold embossed words at the top of the parchment, which seemed to be little more than a faded old order form as though from a shop doing inventory. She gasped, tracing her hands over the words, and reciting them aloud to herself in brave, if frightened, speculation.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes".


	23. Réuni

**Réuni**

"_Luck affects everything. Let your hook always be cast in the stream where you least expect there will be a fish_." -- Ovid

Diagon Alley was a dead zone, and Ginny felt her unease growing as she marched up the way, nervously casting glances over her shoulder as she did so. All of the shops were closed. A number of them had been boarded up, their doors and windows sealed tightly. Of the ones that had not been protected, most had sustained serious damage along the lines of the Burrow. Their windows had been broken, and some of the buildings were little more than sticks and platforms, the remains of old fires. Charred ash was all that remained of the Owl Emporium Ginny had once spent countless hours outside, longingly watching the rustle of birds through the window and wishing for a pet of her own.

Most of the ruined buildings had posters nailed to them somewhere, and when Ginny leaned in near the old bookshop for a closer look, she was startled to see the image of the Dark Mark, slowly undulating above thick, heavy print. Whoever the shopkeepers were, they seemed to have offended the Death Eaters in some way, for although Ginny could not see any green marks over top of the buildings, the structures bearing posters had undergone the most destruction.

Squaring her shoulders, Ginny continued on, not letting herself linger too long near any storefront. The shadows were thick, darkness had nearly fallen, and she was afraid of who or what might emerge in the night. There were no shoppers, no pedestrians to walk along with, and Diagon Alley seemed to have become a ghost town. There were a few foxes slinking around in the long shadows cast by the sunset, and birds made roosts on various rooftops and gutters, but there was no trace of humanity. Even the debris had been mostly carried away by the wind, so not even old crisp packets or discarded bottles remained. Ginny noticed a few bronze Knuts, a piece of what could be a wand, and a silver Sickle abandoned on the ground as well, amid a splash of what might be dried blood, and she shivered, leaving the money where it lay as though it were a bad omen.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was locked up just as tightly as the rest of the shops. It too bore a Death Eater poster on the door, and it had been attacked as well, fallen upon with particular fury. The filthy, thick-glass windows were mostly broken, the empty displays cluttered with old rubbish, cobwebs and dust. They were just visible in between gaps in the wood planks that had been nailed on to protect them. The door was nailed shut, completely boarded up. There were gouges in it, and a part of the wall seemed to have smouldered. Ginny felt her heart sink, and realised she had been holding her breath ever since she had arrived on the street. Perturbed with herself for her irrational hope, stricken with disappointment, Ginny felt tears burn in her eyes as the energy left her. She had actually expected that she might see her family again: that Molly and Arthur would be there to hug her tightly; that the twins would be laughing and playing tricks, pulling her hair; that Ron would be there, for once not irritating but glad to be reunited; that Bill and Charlie and even Percy would stand around in amicable conversation and that they might, as a family, be safe. Reality seemed particularly harsh after that cushy daydream.

Ginny covered her face with one hand, fighting back the tears that threatened. She moved to the side, determined to check the back door, but once she found it, her hope sank away, leaving her bereft. There was a thick black scorch mark across it, as though someone had cursed it to gain entrance, and it was mostly boarded up as well, just not quite as efficiently as the front. _Of course_, she thought, disgusted with herself. _They boarded it up before we left_. _The Death Eaters must have attacked it after. _It was plain there had been no customers for ages.

Distraught, she found the note in her pocket and flattened it out again, looking for new information. It was unchanged. The date had mostly smeared, but was still legible. The embossed heading was the same. Ginny turned it over, checking the back for clues she may have missed, but it was empty. There were no secrets hidden inside, no ink that glowed brightly now that she had come to this deserted place, and Ginny felt herself slump, desperately afraid and alone. She walked back to the front of the shop, but the street was as desolate and empty as ever.

She had fresh clothes in her bag, and some food as well, but only enough to last for a few days' time. There was no money, unless she scampered back to the blood-splattered Knuts and Sickle and pocketed them, which she was not inclined to do. Staring at the wrinkled note in puzzlement, even frustration, Ginny wondered what she was going to do. She wanted to leave Britain, but there was no place to go. Even if there was, she could not leave Severus, and Remus was still imprisoned too, as far as she knew. Without any prospects for rescuing them, she was helpless, but Ginny knew she could not simply leave the country and forget about them. Already, the guilt was paining her. She was undoubtedly alone, as well. Last she'd heard, Harry, Ron and Hermione had been alive and well, but she'd had no news, and knew of no way of finding them.

"What am I going to do?" Ginny asked herself desperately. She looked to the note once more, re-examining the back, in case an answer had appeared, but there was nothing new on the parchment, and in frustration she crumpled it and threw it on the ground. _A prank_, she decided. A mean joke, to whip up her hopes and then destroy them. Tired, confused and alone, she lifted her head, intending to give the locked building a last glance before leaving.

The door was open.

Startled, Ginny took a step back, certain that she was going mad. For a moment, the scene before her seemed to waver, as if she was looking at it through water, or a silky veil. She saw the shop as pristine as it had been in its glory days, the windows freshly washed and sparkling, an array of brightly coloured objects perched in the window displays. The building was clean, bearing a recent coat of paint, covered with bright signs advertising all manner of goods. Then she blinked, and the place was ruins again. _But the door, the door is still open_.

Gingerly, Ginny moved forward. Her entire body was tense, ready to spring up and flee at the first sign of danger, but as she approached the door, she realised the shop was not completely dark inside. Someone had lit a lamp. With a shock, Ginny realised that someone was standing nearby, at a table covered with what appeared to be jewellery. He had his back to her, but she could tell he was a medium sized person, wearing black trousers and a white Oxford, his dark brown hair trailing down and brushing his collar, as if it had been a few months since he'd considered a haircut.

Frightened, Ginny drew her wand. She forced herself not to jump and cry out when a second figure moved, this one another man, not quite as tall as the first, with black hair, dressed in jeans.

"Who's there?" Ginny asked bravely, mustering up her courage. She noticed a number of dark shapes, which she had taken for shadows, all reveal themselves as people and turn towards her, though they were still too far away and too cloaked in semi-darkness for her to make out their features. There were five of them, she realised, fear turning her cold. They were unlikely to be Death Eaters, as Death Eaters would not be wearing jeans, and anyway they all seemed bulkier than the figures inside the shop, but Ginny was afraid nonetheless. "This is my brothers' shop. Who are you? What are you doing here?"

From inside, two of the figures gave a hearty cry, but the first one she'd seen, the brunet, shushed them and motioned for them to stay still. Another brunet, the same height and build, joined the first, and they exchanged a whisper. _Squatters_, Ginny thought. _Or thieves_. The first man left his fellows at the table and moved towards the door, with the second at his heels. The rest of the assembled moved slowly behind him. He was wandless, his hands open to reveal himself as defenceless, and there was a huge grin on his face.

"Ginny," he spoke, and Ginny gasped. Even with the artificial hair colour, she would have recognised that freckled face anywhere, just as she recognised the features of the others moving towards her now, their hands waving and their smiles bright.

"Fred!"

* * *

"But -- but how?" Ginny asked a few moments later, after she had been passed around the group to receive hugs. Her eyes flickered over Harry, who smiled ruefully at her and fingered several fresh cuts upon his face, shrugging, but she turned back to the twins after a moment, desperately confused. "I -- I know you got away at the airport, but the Death Eaters caught you. They -- they killed you." She swallowed, shaking her head. "I know they did. Sev -- Snape told me, and Bellatrix Lestrange. I don't understand."

"Snape?" burst out Harry. "You've heard from him, have you? Where is he?"

Hermione reached out, pressing her hand down against Harry's as though expecting him to draw his wand and fly into a rampage. "Harry, calm down. I know you dislike Snape, but he helped us, remember? He told us about the fake Patronus; we could have been badly hurt, even killed if we'd stumbled into that trap without his help."

"Yeah, but --"

"He helped me too," Ginny supplied. Her face heated at the mere thought of Severus, and she decided to spare the lot the details of her changed relationship with the man who had once been her least favourite professor. "He got me out of the dungeons in Malfoy Manor. That's where most of the prisoners are being kept, although I know some have been sent to Azkaban too. I -- I got away because of him." She sighed. "And Peter."

Harry seemed ready to explode. His face purpled. "Peter? Peter who? Peter _Pettigrew_? The _traitor?_"

"Harry," said Hermione again, warningly. "It doesn't matter. Don't you see that? So long as Ginny's safe…."

Ginny nodded, fixing her eyes on Harry. "Yes, him. I'll tell you about it later, if you want, but right now…." She turned back to the twins, who had seated themselves across from her at the small, coin-covered table. What she had originally taken for jewellery was a collection of coins, monies from all over the world, Muggle and wizard alike. She had no idea where they came from. Fred and George's shop had made a killing when it had first opened, but without any customers left to shop Diagon Alley, she could see no way for them to continue raking in the gold. But that hardly mattered, and she tuned her thoughts to more important subjects. "I want to know what happened. Where did that owl come from, the one who brought me the note? Did you know I was in the house? How did you -- how are you --"

"Still alive?" asked George succinctly. He smiled. "Your man Snape, actually."

"SNAPE?" Harry bellowed once more, but fell silent under Hermione's intense glare.

"Yes, Snape," said Fred. "We made it out of the airport okay, but as you know, they found us. It didn't take them long. We'd escaped them at the airport, but after that, we had no idea where to go. We couldn't go home, because we knew that's the first place they'd look, and we didn't dare come back here. We thought we'd lay low with some old friends, but there was a raid. They found us at Hogsmeade."

George nodded. "It was Snape, and two others. They weren't higher ups, they didn't seem experienced, and Snape was in charge. We thought we were done for, when he disarmed us. I mean -- it was Snape." He shuddered demonstratively, despite his smile, and was rewarded with a look of understanding from Harry. "He raised his wand, and we knew we were going to die, but then all of a sudden he used it on his two companions."

"When he stunned them," Fred continued, "we didn't know what to expect. We thought maybe he planned to take all the glory for our capture for himself. Or that he wanted to make it look like a harder fight than what it was, in order to impress You-Know-Who. It was really frightening for a minute there. But then he asked us to give him some of our hair, and so we did, and he pulled out this vial."

"Polyjuice potion," gasped Hermione, and Ron beamed proudly at her.

"Right," confirmed George. "He used the Imperio on them, made them drink the Potion and ordered them to act like they were us. I think he Confounded them as well. We switched clothes with them, and Snape said it would be all right, that nobody would find out, because he'd kill them before the potion wore off. Anyway, he told us to get as far away from the action as we could, and to lay low. Said disguising ourselves wouldn't hurt either, that's why we've done our hair. Then he took the other two Death Eaters away, and as far as I know, killed them in our place."

Ginny stared, flabbergasted. She knew her mouth was hanging open stupidly, in shock, but she could not help it. "But I -- I lived with -- I mean," she hastily corrected herself. "I saw Snape all the time, and he never told me."

"Probably was afraid they'd try Legilimency against you," suggested Fred wisely, earning an enthusiastic nod of support from Hermione. "He might have worried that if you knew, the Death Eaters would find out what he'd done and realise he's not one of them."

"But I -- but I --" Ginny stammered, remembering the copious amount of tears she had cried over the death of her family. "He should have said _something_. He could have given me some hint, some hope that you were still alive. I know Occlumency --"

"This is Snape we're talking about," Harry pointed out darkly. He frowned, his expression sour as he ignored Hermione, who was rolling her eyes in exasperation with his attitude. "He doesn't trust anybody, remember? How could he, when he knows what a low-down, sneaky sort of --"

"You know Occlumency?" Ron interrupted, surprised. His light brown eyes widened, impressed, and he managed to hold back a look of jealousy. "How'd you manage that? You were a year behind us, and we hadn't even learned yet." He tried a smile. "Will you teach me?"

"Snape taught me," Ginny responded, but she shook her head, eliminating further questions. She turned to Fred and George, her face grave. A few moments ago, she had been tired and hungry, but now her body practically crackled with electric energy, fuelled both by the happy occurrence of finding her brothers, and with urgency for the problems that had been tearing her up inside.

"The game's up now anyway. They know about Severus," she said, slipping on the name as she forgot to address him by his surname. Harry and Ron seemed startled by this, but neither Hermione nor the twins reacted. "They know he isn't a loyalist anymore. They did Legilimency on Remus, that's how they found out, or that's what Peter told me, anyway. Both of them are still prisoners now, and I'm not sure what Voldemort has planned." She blanched, her heart pounding. "And tonight's --"

"The full moon," Hermione confirmed gravely, looking around at Harry and Ron, and then the twins. "Lupin's transforming, and who knows what's happening to Snape. So, what are we going to do?"


	24. Le Nouveau

Author's Note: My apologies for the delay. I planned to update before moving but ended up not having the time. Anyway, I'm at uni now and have a few days before classes start. I'm expecting to have at least one update each week if not more. Thanks to everybody who has read and all those who have reviewed too, because it means a lot to me. :)

**Le Nouveau**

"Here is a test to find out whether your mission in life is complete. If you're alive, it isn't." - Richard Bach

* * *

"Oh God, oh God!"

The words sounded strange in Remus' ears, a foreign human language that he could not quite recognise, nor decipher, although he knew it meant pain. One only needed their eyes to see that. The human was by the tree, bleeding freely from his fresh wounds. Nearly bent double, his eyes hidden by a veil of black hair, the man was keening openly, murmuring words meant to communicate pain in a human tongue, even as he growled and snapped, giving over to the lure of the moon.

Remus cocked his head. The moon was nigh, just a minute from fully risen, and he could sense the incredible draw it had over him, tugging him close like a magnet. The control slipped away like water running through his fingers, except his fingers were changing, and the smooth backs of his hands were growing fur even as they changed shape. Remus studied the change within himself, fascinated by the motion. It did not hurt so bad, once he got far enough along; wolves were less sensitive to pain that humans, more capable of withstanding it with dignity. Meanwhile, the mostly human man writhed, experiencing the shock of change for the first time in his life.

"Help…help me!" Severus gasped. He had been in more sticky situations that he could count before, but none of them had ever frightened him like this. Even seeing the ruined house in Godric's Hollow, knowing that Voldemort had not stayed his hand but had instead carelessly decided to cut down all three of the home's occupants, had not been quite so terrifying._Perhaps_, he managed to reflect as his mind was dismantled by the chaos of transformation, _because I knew what to expect_. Becoming a werewolf was indescribably alien. Nothing in Severus' experiences had prepared him for it; not the Crucio, which he had thought had taught him a thing or two about agony; not watching Lupin undergo it, because the man had spent decades adjusting and made it look easy.

It was like being stretched on the rack, every limb pulled out of joint, every muscle severed, all the bones snapped. His blood ran like fiendfyre through his arteries, burning fiercely out of control, even though the night was cold. Severus lost the ability to contain his screams and shrieks, though soon enough, they began to give way to the high-pitched whimpering of a tortured dog, and when he threw back his head to cry for mercy, all that emerged was a spooky, desolate howl.

It was bleeding. Remus, who was not Remus any longer but Moony instead, crouched down on all fours, ready to spring at the first sign of vulnerability from the creature in the corner. There was no way of telling what it was, but it bore a filthy conglomeration of scents: wolf, prey and human mingled together in the scent aura covering the beast. Moony could see an opalescent shine in the eyes, so like his own, but the thing was still bleeding, moaning piteously, whimpering as it licked the place where earlier, it had been bit.

There would be plenty of time for hunting later; Moony preferred to explore. They'd been loosed earlier, onto a contained area of woodlands and plains, and the woman who had come to lead them out had had tears in her eyes. Narcissa, her name was, though Moony could not remember the human words for things any longer. She had not known what Severus had allowed to happen; she had believed she was leading the two werewolves, father and child, to the hunting grounds in order to end the man's life. Perhaps she had believed in the woods, he would be able to hide as escape the retribution designed by the Dark Lord. Maybe she had thought it would at least be a more peaceful environment in which to die, though she was certainly bright enough to know that the man's last moments would be of terror and pain despite the prettiness of the moon or the brisk, fresh smell of the countryside.

Turning his back on the thing, Moony looked up at the moon, baying yearningly to her as though in lullaby, or love song. He relished the feel of the wild through his fur, the wild, distant scents carried to him on the breeze. Yipping softly, he summoned the white wolf to his side. Cub, old enough to learn to hunt. Moony slammed his side against the cub, sending it sprawling, and it rolled over, rubbing itself in the dust before bounding back to him, eager. Tongue out, the cub pranced around him in respectful show, kicking up grass, flashing ivory fangs and feigning a challenge, always to be swatted affectionately by the bigger wolf, the grey.

Movement. The great werewolf paused, not out of fear but curiosity. Things rustled and moved in the underbrush. Deer. Moony knew that scent and pictured the animal to which it belonged: tawny and majestic. Prey animal. However, he did not go in search of it, and when the white wolf panted at him, eyes shining, and moved in for a strike, he knocked it down to the ground and stood over it, domineering. Deer meant forbidden prey. Deer stirred something in his heart. Deer flesh was verboten, dangerous, meant punishment and, though he could no longer articulate the human concept, heartache.

The white wolf scrambled to rise, his front and hind legs kicking and scratching at his father, but Moony snapped at him, a hard and threatening sound, and the cub quieted, though displayed mild rebellion by twisting around, trying to get off its back. It was feisty, a mix of defiance and adoration.

In human form, Teddy had forgotten that he had ever had a father. The man, Remus Lupin, was a stranger, and his mother all but a figment of his imagination. He saw them sometimes, in his dreams, his mother sweet and happy, his father gentle, but brooding. Mostly though, his sleeping hours were filled with gruesome scenes of fresh kills, of the never ending skirmishes between him and the other werewolf children of Fenrir's army. Survival, kill or be killed, had become his motto before he was old enough to pronounce the words. The paddock was never supplied with enough food or water for everyone, and those who weakened and performed poorly in fights were ridiculed and abused further, until eventually they succumbed and died.

Fenrir had never minded. It was easy enough to kidnap more children once the weak died out, as he had told them. Only the strongest of the young wolves, the ones with unquestioning loyalty to Fenrir and an obvious taste for blood, were treated well, and Teddy had not yet proven himself, despite all his hard work. Something always went wrong. He had been savaged by several adult werewolves for allowing his fur to change colours during a fighting match; it brought shame to werewolves, he had been told, and led to their further oppression and ridicule. In his first months at the paddock, where the stolen children turned werewolf were housed, he had been unable to fight. In human form, he had been strong, but passive. As a werewolf, he had been interested in searching out the night, but not in aggressive poses. They had nearly killed him to drive the sensitive humanity out, withholding food until he was so crazed with hunger that he attacked whatever Fenrir offered him, devouring it greedily and sparring with anyone who approached.

Visions of a father who read him stories in a careful, mildly animated voice late at night, who had studied him playing with a wistful smile on his face had been driven out, but in his wolf form, Teddy could smell the other werewolf, and tell they were related.

A low, hostile growl sounded, and the white cub and the grey wolf sprung to their feet, stopping their game as they both turned yellow, lamp-like eyes towards the thing. It no longer smelled strange, though it still bore the telltale copper flavour of its blood. The thing was a wolf like them: tall, fierce, with silver eyes and a blue-black coat.

The wolf that had been Severus Snape tipped back its elongated head, opened its mouth and let out a questioning howl. The silver eyes widened as though he was surprised to hear the sound, as though some locked away part of his brain had anticipated a human word, even though he could not have said what exactly that was. He scowled as he looked over to the gambolling cub, who froze and glared back at him, fur raised in irritation and hostility.

It was the grey who made the move, however, as the other two stood summing each other up. Moony strode forward with a graceful combination of caution and confidence, nodding to the white cub, who moved aside reluctantly to let him pass. He scented the air, determining the essence of the black wolf, and then went to it, until there was scarcely any distance between the two of them whatsoever. He watched the black furred wolf bare its teeth, and responded with a low growl, his golden eyes radiating such intensity that the silver pair looked away. With one bark, the black wolf dropped to the ground, turned on its side and bared its neck in a gesture of submission.

* * *

"Well?" Hermione asked, looking from Ron to Harry in confusion. Her posture, ramrod-straight, radiated urgency. In contrast, Ginny felt as though she had been depleted of every last drop of her essence, and sagged against the table until Fred hastily hurried over with a small wooden stool for her to sit on. Hermione barely noticed Ginny, as she was too busy glaring at Ron. "Well?" she prompted again, "what are we going to do?"

Ron pursed his lips, looking warily out the corner of his eye to Harry and then back at Hermione. He shrugged as though to express a combination of doubt and acceptance. "I think…er…Harry?"

"If you think," began Harry, his voice nasty with anger, "that I'm going to risk my life and the lives of my friends for that greasy git, you've got another thing coming." His eyes widened, a mad shade of green, and he too stood up tall, although in his case he gave the impression of wanting to leap directly out of his skin. There was a savageness about him that Ginny had never seen before, not in Dumbledore's Army, not during Quidditch practise, never. "He murdered Dumbledore!" Unspoken, but just as virulent, was the accusation against Snape on Sirius' behalf. Harry had never quite forgotten how it had been Snape who had goaded Sirius about his uselessness, and had perhaps caused or at least contributed to Sirius' desire to fight in the battle at the Ministry, where he had died.

Hermione looked startled by Harry's anger, but she steeled herself. "And saved our skins in the Forest of Dean, don't forget."

"And the twins'," Ginny supplied softly, not daring to look at Harry.

"Right." Hermione nodded firmly. "Anyway, there's Lupin to consider. Even without Snape, we have to go and help him. Who knows what could have happened to him by now! They probably aren't treating him very nicely even under the best of circumstances, and now that Snape's been revealed as a traitor, they're probably angry, not to mention he may be punished for Ginny's escape."

The thought had not occurred to Ginny, and she gasped, feeling a horrible, burdensome guilt settle over her. She had avoided thinking about Remus much, because whenever her thoughts turned back to him, she felt ashamed. He had been there with her, in the horrid grimy cell, and had taken care of her when she had learned of her parents' deaths, and for his kindness she had repaid him by embarking on her relationship with Severus. He was too patient and kind for her to imagine he would rage at her if the truth were revealed, but she could well picture his hurt. He had cared for her, obviously. Perhaps he had even loved her, and she had felt very similar for him, and still, she had fallen for Severus too. It was strange to think that once upon a time, her romantic entanglements had been with people like Michael Corner and Dean Thomas, young boys who were hardly complicated, back when she had lived an easy, child's life in the safety of her school.

"That's true," she said out loud, nodding, and this time she did look at Harry.

He seemed ready to burst from passion and upset. His fists were clenched and he looked determined to protest, more stubborn than usual. His expression softened just a bit as their eyes met, but then he drew a deep breath and shook his head.

"No. We can't. They're in Malfoy Manor, Hermione! Do you have any idea how much security that place must have? Plus, it's swarming with Death Eaters. How many of them live there, do you guess?" he asked Ginny.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure, but there were at least a dozen who served as guards, plus the Malfoys themselves. When I lived upstairs, with Severus -- I mean," she corrected herself, dropping her gaze so that she focussed on Ron's shoes. "Upstairs, most of the rooms were empty. They kept Remus in one, and the Malfoys had one and so did Draco. Maybe twelve, or fifteen, possibly less but more when they have meetings."

Hermione looked at Ginny with open curiosity, her eyes narrowed, but Harry nodded firmly. "Exactly. Fifteen of them, and there are six of us. Four of us are under-aged wizards, at that."

"So what?" Hermione asked, tearing her gaze from Ginny. "There's got to be a way. Ron, back me up on this. We can come up with a plan, like we did in the Ministry. There's always the cloak --"

"We can't all fit under it. Even the three of us are too tall now. Maybe two of us, or three with Ginny, not all six." Harry crossed his arms, looking defiant.

"Then disguises," interjected George, who had been observing patiently.

Fred nodded. "Yes, it's simple. All we'd need would be some black cloaks like what they've got, and some of those ugly masks."

"What about underneath?" Ron worried. "Won't they ask us to take off our masks, if they find us, so we can prove who we are?"

"Glamours," George said dismissively. "Rearrange some features, change the height and weight, different colouring, it's easy enough."

Harry was unimpressed. "And if they decided they weren't convinced, then what? I'm sure the Death Eaters all know each other. If they saw six unfamiliar people walking around, they'd be sure to ask questions."

"Then we can impersonate them," Ginny spoke up. "I've heard enough conversations to know most of them now. I'm sure I wouldn't have trouble remembering six identities. Anyway, we could try Polyjuice Potion, if it comes to that."

"Takes a month to brew," Harry advised her darkly.

Ginny shrugged. "Well, yes, but there is some in Sever -- Snape's study, hidden off the main room in his house. Even if the place has been decimated by now, they probably haven't found it, and it can't be destroyed, since he has so many charms on it."

"And how do you know?" Harry asked sharply.

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Hermione piped up. "Does it matter? Come on, Harry, think about it. Polyjuice! Perfect disguises."

Ron frowned. "How will we get the hairs?"

"All we need is one to start with," Hermione said. "Then one of us can take the potion, sneak in, and get hairs from some of the others." She frowned. "We'd have to get rid of the originals, of course. It wouldn't do to have two of everybody walking around, but we could manage. If we pick them off one by one --"

"Then we might have a chance," Ginny supplied.

Fred nodded. "More than a chance, it could really work. So when do we go?"


	25. Liberté

**Liberté**

"_True friends stab you in the front." -_ Oscar Wilde

* * *

The sun had barely risen when Bellatrix Lestrange let herself out of the manor door and walked briskly towards the east, her heart pounding in anticipation. In the yellow morning light, she could just make out the green fringe of trees in the distance. She smiled, moving more quickly as her heartbeat increased speed, eager to see what damage had been wrought by the previous night. She could already imagine Severus. Perhaps he would be ravaged and mangled by the sharp teeth of the werewolf, or maybe his would have been an easier death; perhaps he would have chosen to take his own life rather than wait for the inevitable._Yes_, she mused, _that would be typical of Severus, to take the easy way out, and to go according to his own rules. No matter_, she thought, her smile widening. He would be dead, of course, and she would retrieve the body in order to display the corpse to the Death Eaters that very afternoon. She could already imagine how proud Lord Voldemort would be. Perhaps he would congratulate her personally, or allude to her as his preferred favourite, now that the traitor who had long deceived him was gone.

Approaching the trees, Bellatrix grinned. It was a cruel expression, frightening on her once-beautiful face. Lupin, she knew, would be distraught. Perhaps the sight of what he had done to Severus would break him; Bellatrix grinned wider at the very idea. It would certainly make it easier for the Imperio to hold, if Remus lost the initiative to protect himself, his very will to live. The strong ones were trouble, and Lupin was strong, but he won't be, she knew, once he sees what he's done. Idly, she wondered how the boy had fared. Ideally, he would still be alive and able to serve under Greyback, but she knew there was a silver lining; if Lupin had killed his son as well, he would have absolutely no resistance to Voldemort's control.

The sudden sharp sound of a twig snapping underfoot caused Bellatrix to abandon her daydreams and spin around. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the man coming up the path behind her.

"Mulciber."

"Miss Bellatrix," greeted the Death Eater. His eyes seemed like searchlights as he greedily looked her over. "A fine morning. Where are you off to?"

She sneered. "Collecting the prisoners -- Remus, and the Lupin cub. And Snape's body as well, if there is anything left of him to drag back."

Mulciber frowned. "How come you're getting them? I thought Lucius had been instructed --"

"My brother-in-law has enough on his plate already, without adding the further responsibility of this menial task. I decided to assist him." She lifted her chin haughtily. "In any case, I doubt Lucius will be able to tear himself from his leisure. Draco has returned home, and my sister's dear husband does enjoy his pleasure."

Instead of blushing with embarrassment, Mulciber guffawed. "Lucky Lucius. I've told him for years that boy should be part of the inner circle. He's of age now, he has the mark -- why is Malfoy keeping him hidden?"

"How should I know? What my brother-in-law does is none of my affair." Bellatrix stared coldly at Mulciber. "Ask him yourself, if you are so keen to know, though I warn you, if you ever lay so much as a finger on my nephew --"

"All right, all right! I was just asking," sulked Mulciber. He made a face. "He's of age," he said again, under his breath.

Bellatrix glared. "That may be, but within the house of Malfoy, he will always be subject to his father's rule, not handed around the inner circle like a piece of meat. If you wish to express interest, do so to Lucius. Personally, I find it distasteful."

"You like your fun as well as anyone," Mulciber accused.

"That I do, but the idea of you pawing my nephew -" Bellatrix shuddered. "He has been raised as a servant to the Dark Lord. Therein lies his destiny, a route that will certainly lead him to glory. I do not wish to see him sidetracked, and don't forget, he is a pureblood and therefore off limits to the likes of you."

Mulciber reddened, looking strangled. "My blood's pure as anybody's --"

"Doubtful," answered Bellatrix. "But even so, you're still beneath a Malfoy -- and a Black," she added, as Mulciber's eyes roved her body again.

"Lucius --"

"Lucius would agree with me entirely," Bellatrix stated.

"No," spoke Mulciber. He looked over Bellatrix's shoulder. "Good morning, Lucius."

They were joined by the tall blonde, who strode imperiously to Bellatrix's side. He was impeccably groomed as usual, his robes fastidious and his every hair in place, but Lucius' skin was slightly more pale than usual, and his eyes tinged gently with pink, as though he had slept only fitfully. He sneered regally at Mulciber, and nodded to Bellatrix. "Mulciber," he said coldly. Then, "morning, Bella. It's rare to see you up with the lark. Narcissa told me you'd gone out. May I ask where to?"

"I'm going to check on the paddock," Bellatrix said, slightly disturbed by the forceful stare Lucius directed her way. Normally, he was a man that displayed his mettle only when absolutely necessary. The rest of the time, he was smooth as velvet, more concerned with manners and image than with arguing, since his aura of dominance came through quite clearly without him needing to allude to it.

Lucius looked slightly puzzled. "Oh? I believed that responsibility had been assigned to myself." His eyes narrowed, sparking flint. "Has there been a change in assignments, or do you simply have some personal investment in the outcome of last night's hunt?"

"I want to ensure Snape is dead," Bellatrix stated baldly. She watched as Lucius tightened his jaw a fraction, radiating tension. "Surely you find this acceptable, brother. We should drag the body through the grounds, to parade our victory, then celebrate the elimination of that traitor from our ranks. I merely rose early to hasten that happy event."

"And if he's not dead?"

Bellatrix frowned. "Well of course he's dead, Lucius. He was trapped, with two werewolves. The paddock is not large enough for him to have fled and hidden himself well, and of course one cannot Apparate into it or from it. Naturally, we will find him dead, if there is anything left of him to find at all."

Lucius appeared to have a headache, for he pressed his fingertips to his forehead for a moment, remaining quiet. Then he sighed, loudly. "You may be right."

"Well of course I am," Bellatrix chided. "What is the matter with you, Lucius? You should be thankful Voldemort's ranks have been purged of that filthy spy."

"I am," Lucius said, in a stony, entirely unconvincing voice. "Well then, Mulciber, perhaps you will do the honour of confirming the death for us. I am sure Bellatrix has more pressing matters to attend to, and I should like to quickly be rid of this chore so that I can return to bed."

Mulciber grinned. "Draco's back, isn't he?"

"I fail to see what that has to do with you," Lucius said, his voice raised and more forceful than usual. He cocked an eyebrow. "Though no doubt you're eagerly awaiting his admission to the circle." He glared. "Get on with your work, or I'll see to it that there is a vacancy in our ranks that my son can fill."

The other man looked startled, then perturbed. He squared his shoulders. "Fine," he said, and stalked off towards the paddock.

"Lucius, I was perfectly capable --"

"Of course, Bella," he said calmly. "Let us go down as well, then, and discover the truth for ourselves. I would simply prefer a decoy to go first, lest any danger presents itself. Severus may be gone, but no doubt Lupin remains, and if his mind is too damaged by the trauma of what has occurred, he may lash out with violence. Better Mulciber than us."

Bellatrix crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance, disappointed to have her treat ruined. "How is Draco?" she asked cattily, smirking at her brother-in-law. "Glad to be home from school?"

"I daresay he is," Lucius said, though he tensed. "I -- I don't believe he will be returning to Hogwarts for any further stays. Lord Voldemort has requested his services, and Draco will need to dedicate his time to the cause rather than the lessons at the school. It's a convenience, actually, to be able to teach him myself. A Hogwarts education, even now that our own kind are installed, is woefully incomplete."

"And I'm sure he's happy to spend more time with you. You must be very glad to have more time with him."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps."

A cry echoed in the distance, and the conversation ended abruptly.

"Come on," urged Bellatrix. She moved swiftly toward the trees where Mulciber had disappeared, not concerned for her comrade's safety, but eager to be in the know.

"You don't suppose Severus is alive, do you?" Lucius asked. For a second, he sounded almost hopeful, but quickly smothered the emotions.

Bellatrix shook her head, breaking in to a jog. "Of course not, but even if he was, Mulciber would have taken care of him by now." She frowned, upset at being denied the opportunity. "That would explain the shout, though I rather except it is the werewolf, immersed in regret for what he's done. Hurry up, let's go find out."

* * *

Hidden in the shadows of the trees, which blocked much of the morning light from reaching the ground, Severus Snape released the dead man's body and doubled over, clutching his stomach as though experiencing a painful cramp. He glared at Mulciber, who lay still among the grass and fallen leaves, his eyes still open, but sightless. The Death Eater's head was at an awkward angle, due to the fact that his neck had been broken.

"Are you hurt?" came Remus' voice from deeper between the trees. The brunet emerged, looking almost regretfully at the fallen body before nodding once to himself and turning form Mulciber to Severus.

Severus sighed, lowering himself onto a nearby boulder. He panted slightly, his hands pressing into his stomach and side. "Not badly," he said, his voice bitter. "I should have anticipated the knife, but I thought once I got his wand away from him, he'd be helpless. No matter," he added, a bit more forcefully. He lifted his head, meeting Remus' eyes, and pressed his lips together thinly, in an expression that may have passed as a grim smile. "He's dead, and we've got a wand."

"Then we should go soon," Remus advised. He bit his lip, looking over at Severus. The man had still not recovered from the transfiguration, and now he had a minor stab wound to contend with. "Can't you heal yourself?"

"Cursed knife," Severus said roughly, holding out the silver blade for a moment to show Remus, then tossing it aside. It fell near Mulciber, and glittered in the gloom. "It's not deep, it'll heal in time when the spell wears off."

Remus looked perplexed. "The curse didn't fade when you killed Mulciber?"

"No. Plainly, someone else cast the spell. I would not be surprised to learn it was Voldemort himself." With some discomfort, Severus forced himself to stand. He looked at his hands, which were stained in his own blood, and sighed wearily. The night had been long, full of hunting and roaming, and he was exhausted. The injury only added to the problem, but he knew there was no time to lay around complaining about it. Shrugging back his black hair, he looked at Remus again. "Did you find the boy?"

The shadow that flickered across Remus' face made the answer evident, but he spoke it aloud anyway. "No. Teddy's nowhere near us. I didn't check everywhere, but I would have felt him, I'm certain of that. I think he escaped the paddock, but don't ask me how." His shoulders sagged. "I -- I called for him, but I don't think he knows me anymore."

"Last night," Severus pointed out. "From what I can remember, it was obvious he knew you were his father." He grimaced, despising the tragic expression Remus wore. It evoked a strange, unfamiliar empathy within him that made him uncomfortable. "He'll be fine."

"If they find him --"

"They'll take him back to Greyback. It's not ideal," Severus acceded as Remus looked up sharply. "I know, but they kept him alive. He won't be killed if they can round him up, which is more than can be said for us, I presume." He groaned slightly at his soreness. "He could still be in wolf form, couldn't he? Perhaps that's why he didn't respond. You might not have located him simply for that reason, Lupin. As a wolf, he would be far quieter, less likely to stray inadvertently into a human's path --"

Remus shook his head. "I know him. I would have smelled him. He's my son, I would have felt something if I'd been anywhere near him," he said defiantly. "He'll not return to Greyback, Severus, not so long as I'm alive to prevent it. You see what they've done to him, what he's been turned into --" His voice broke and he covered his face, his shoulders trembling. "He is my son," he said after a moment. His voice was muffled, but firm. "I won't leave without him."

"You'll have to --"

"NO! I won't." Remus glared fiercely, his jaw set as he prepared his tirade. Then he fell silent, his eyes widening. "Quiet," he said, in a barely audible voice. "Someone's coming. No, more than one…."

"I hear them," Severus mouthed back. He tensed, listening, trying to silence his breath, which seemed to roar loudly from his lungs. He recognised the graceful stride that was Lucius Malfoy's, and his heart beat quickened as he tried to place the other party, who was hurrying through the underbrush and making rather a lot of racket. Bellatrix, he decided, and felt himself go cold at the thought. They were well matched, Bellatrix and himself, and in a fair duel Severus knew he would have a fine chance of winning, but Bellatrix struck with no conscience or restraint, and even one-on-one, there would be no guarantees. However, Lucius was extremely skilled as well. He did only as much work as was necessary to win, rather than charging like a bull in a china shop the way Bella did, but the two of them together was not a match Severus had much hope of winning.

"Mulciber!" snapped Bellatrix Lestrange, surprisingly close. Remus shrank back into the shadows, beckoning Severus towards him. "What is happening? Have you found them? Is Snape dead?"

Covering his mouth and nose to silence his breathing, Severus drew back through the trees after Remus, moving as silently as possible. He knew Apparition was impossible. They would have to find a way out of the grounds first, to someplace where their movement was not inhibited. That task would be difficult enough, but Severus knew Remus would stand by his word and refuse to leave until Teddy had been located. They would have to play cat and mouse with two armed Death Eaters, while sharing only one wand between them.

"Damned fool, where has he gone off to?" Bellatrix mumbled. "Mulciber, you lazy sod, report! Where are you?"

"Quiet," warned Lucius. "We must have the advantage. If you give away our position --"

"To an unarmed werewolf and his mad young son?" Bellatrix laughed hysterically. "I have no fear of Lupin, let me assure you. He's only savage by moonlight, and even then reluctantly. MULCIBER!" she screamed abruptly. "Idiot! Where have you gone off to?"

Nodding to Severus, Remus crept further into the woods, his anxiety growing. He wanted to flee, but he could not go without his son. Perhaps Nymphadora had not been the true love of his life, but she had been at the very least a loyal friend, someone who had loved him unconditionally. The boy was all that remained of her now, and Remus knew he could never live with himself if he abandoned his son to the Death Eaters in order to seek his own freedom. It would be easier to surrender his chance at survival than it would be to cope, knowing he had left Teddy behind.

"Go on, find the boy, and hurry," Severus spoke as silently as he could. "I'll hold them off."

"You're wounded," Remus pointed out.

"I'll live."

"It's two against one."

"As it will be if you stay, seeing as we have just one wand." Severus glared, not out of anger at Remus, but frustration at their situation. "Quickly now, we haven't much time. I don't care to bet on our chances of getting out of here, and the longer we wait, the worse the odds get."

"This is all your fault," Bellatrix snapped as she slammed her arm against several low-hanging branches, shoving them ruthlessly out of the way. "If you had allowed me to come down first instead of sending that moron Mulciber, we would be back in the manor now, toasting the Dark Lord's victory instead of prowling around in the woods." She swatted at an insect, wearing an expression of distaste. "That idiot!"

Lucius glared back, smoothing his hair to give himself something to do. He feared if he left his hands idle, he might strike his sister-in-law, and while he felt confident of his ability to defend himself from her attack, he had more pressing concerns than starting a row with Bellatrix. "If you are tired, feel free to return to my manor for a rest, Bella," Lucius said. His words were cordial, but his tone was strained, and there was obvious anger under the surface. "For my part, I fail to comprehend why you are forcing your involvement in this task anyway. The job of collecting Severus' body and documenting his death was assigned to me, you recall."

"I merely thought to help," Bellatrix said, her voice equally high-class. Then she sneered, losing the pretence of manners. "I assumed you'd be too busy fucking Draco to tear yourself away for such a menial task."

Lucius' face whitened. His grey eyes lit a startling silver as he rounded on his sister-in-law. "Do not dare --"

"It's the truth, isn't it? Don't feign innocence with me, dear brother." Bellatrix made a face. "I've known for years. Your wife knows too. You should be thankful that unlike some, Narcissa was raised to know when to be discreet and loyal, otherwise she would have left you years ago. It disturbs her; I've always said she was entirely too fond of the child. She smothers him, when she ought to be preparing him for adulthood in the Dark Lord's service. I am not like my sister in that respect. I understand you, I do. Now you should understand me." She drew herself up to her full height. "I am our Lord's favourite. It is I that should have received those honours he doled out to Snape, and I will do anything to remind him of my loyalty and service. You will not get in my way, is that clear?"

Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did so, the crack of a branch being broken underfoot alerted them both to a third presence. Lucius, assuming it was Mulciber, did not draw his wand. Bellatrix did, though she held it limply, more as a threatening pose than a deadly weapon.

"And just where might you have been?" Bellatrix asked sarcastically as a figure draped in black began to emerge from the trees. Taking it for Mulciber, she glared.

No answer came, but a bolt of red light shot out from the space between two trees, rushing towards Bellatrix with the speed of a runaway train. Bellatrix raised her wand, but her defences were not quick enough. The Stunning spell collided with her chest, and she keeled over backwards, falling limply to the ground, where she remained, unconscious.

"Lupin?" called out Lucius, raising his own wand.

"No." Severus stepped out, shaking back the dark hood of the cloak he had taken from Mulciber, so that Lucius could see his face. He was pleased and a bit surprised to see a flicker of relief cross Lucius' features along with the shock. "It's me. Mulciber is dead." He held up the wand, and watched as Lucius nodded gravely.

"How did you manage to survive?" Lucius asked, his own wand raised.

Severus shrugged. "You know me, I'm resourceful, but that doesn't matter now. I'm leaving here, Lucius, and I'm taking Lupin with me. You can make this simple or difficult, but rest assured, if you fight me, I will do my best to kill you."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "What happened to the boy?"

"Lost," Severus answered simply.

Lucius raised his wand, and Severus prepared to strike, but the blonde man shrugged, indicating that Severus was not the target. He peered into the woods. "They are both at the far end of the grounds, near the field." He paused, steeling himself. "You cannot be permitted to escape. You know that, Severus. I'll be murdered if you go."

"They already believe me dead," Severus answered, lowering his wand slightly. "I was supposed to die by Lupin's hand, last night. No one expects me to have survived; you're the only one who knows."

"And you expect I'll simply allow you to go free then? If anyone ever discovered the truth…." He trailed off, shaking his head. "An incredible risk."

Severus had known Lucius too long to allow himself to hope the man would be soft-hearted. Perhaps Lucius did not take to explosive cruelty the way Bellatrix did, but he was not known for his kindness either, and if he displayed mercy, it was always for his own gain. Still, Severus thought it was worth a try. "A risk worth taking?" he suggested. "For an old friend?"

Instead of answering, Lucius stared at the trees. "Lupin is on his way back. The boy is with him; there appears to be a struggle."

"His mind is broken. Whatever Greyback has done to him --"

"But Lupin is still attached to the boy?"

"Very much so. Lucius," Severus spoke urgently, gripping Mulciber's wand tightly. "Turn around and go back to the manor, please. I don't want to fight you, but I will if I have to, if you won't let us leave. Bellatrix is stunned. If I can get us away from here before she regains consciousness I will, otherwise, I'll kill her. No one needs know you were ever here at all."

Lucius shook his head softly. "I cannot do that, Severus. My wife and son would be made to pay the price, if such folly were ever uncovered. No. I won't take that risk. Bellatrix knows --"

"I'll wipe her memory!"

"Severus, we'll all be killed! She's too strong for a memory charm to hold, have you lost your senses?" Lucius seemed agitated, not at all his usual sedate, graceful self. He clutched his head. Inside, he was in turmoil, a strange occurrence. Normally, Lucius cared very little about anyone aside from himself and those things he valued, such as his family and his possessions. His goals were selfish aims, and he operated from a self-centred perspective. However, he had known Severus for years, even since Severus had been a newly fledged Hogwarts student, and all throughout his early years of training in the Death Eaters. They were close; there was a history between them. Lucius faltered and sighed.

The black-haired man stood firm. "Then I'll kill her. Merlin knows, I've been wanting to for years. Don't tell me you would mourn the loss," he added, with a wry smile at Lucius. Then his face became serious. He was in a dangerous predicament, he knew, and without Lucius' help, there was slim chance of success. "Lupin!" he called, hearing the soft footsteps. "Come here."

Remus came, dragging Teddy with him and looking as though he hated himself for what he was doing. "Teddy," he whispered, trying to haul the boy to his feet, "please." Teddy remained on all fours, growling and snapping with a fully human mouth. "Severus, he won't --" Remus froze, gaping from Lucius to Severus.

"It's all right," urged Severus. "Come on. We are going. Lucius…."

"Very well," Lucius said, his resolve crumbling. He cast a dispassionate glance at Bellatrix. "Hurry, then, before she wakes up. This way."

He led them through a path between the trees, towards what appeared to be a rickety fence, typical of a sheep pasture or other farm. It was weather-beaten, and seemed barely capable of holding itself aright.

"This is the end of the area we charmed," Lucius said. "Only Narcissa and I know the precise boundaries, though Avery also believes himself informed on the secrets of our manor." He managed to look put out.

Remus looked puzzled. "We just climb over, and we're free? That's it?"

Lucius laughed, a low sound. He held out his hand, waving it through what appeared to be clear air. Then, like a mime, his hand seemed to encounter something solid, but invisible. "It is spelled to contain whatever we store here. There is no escaping it except with the correct spell." Calmly, he uttered the words. "Severus, go."

Nodding reassuringly to Remus, Severus straddled the rickety fence and tossed himself over to the other side. The weather was abruptly different, as was the scenery. In place of sunshine was rain and mist. The environment looked bleak and dark, the tree limbs bare and heavy as they scratched at the sky. A chill wind blew, the pervading chill making Severus shiver.

"Come on, Lupin," he started to say, turning around towards the fence where Remus, Teddy and Lucius waited, but instead of the faded wooden fence and the bright sun, there was simply a further expanse of the craggy, mist-laden moor lands, without another human being in sight.

Furious, Severus slammed his right hand into his left palm. "NO!"

Remus blinked. He had seen Severus place one foot upon the lowest beam of the fence, then swing his leg over and jump down, but then Severus had disappeared into nothingness. Remus could still see the open field, marked here and there by little assemblies of small trees, but there was no sign of Severus.

"What --"

"Sealed," said Lucius. The sorrow had lifted from his shoulders, and he looked down upon Remus with disdain. "You didn't actually believe I would allow you to go free, did you? Ah, you did," he surmised, shaking his head as though dealing with someone of very low intelligence. "Trusting, like Dumbledore. That's what makes you all so easy to kill."

Remus' body went limp, and he felt Teddy pull free from his grasp and dart off. Lucius seemed unconcerned by the defection, and smiled without humour as Remus sank down to the ground, weighted with fear and sadness. "Did -- what happened to Severus?"

"He's free, and far away. Lucky for him, my grandfather suffered extreme bouts of paranoia. He rigged up escape routes throughout the house and grounds, lest enemies come." Lucius laughed authentically. "A foolish man, but his tricks have served Severus well. However," he went on, shaking his head patronisingly at Remus, "I'm afraid you're not quite as lucky."

With that he raised his wand, and fired the spell.


	26. Avant la Délivrance

Author's Note: It's a busy upcoming week for me, so I decided to finish the chapter and post it today. Another update no later than one week away, or sooner if I find free time. :) Thanks so much for sticking with it, everybody!

**Avant la Délivrance**

"Crucio!" Lucius said fiercely, aiming his wand directly at Remus' throat. The werewolf dropped, screaming and twisting in agony, and Lucius gritted his teeth, setting his resolve. "Altero Memorum!" he hissed, and at his feet, Lupin arched his back, clawing and fighting to rid himself of the engulfing pain. "Listen to me."

Remus' body flung itself to the left and the right, like someone undergoing a particularly violent seizure. His muscles jerked convulsively, but his eyes, which had been closed against the pain, snapped open and fixed upon Lucius. His forehead smoothed and his mouth went slack and relaxed, the eye of the storm that was his pain-wracked body. Remus' hands continued to drum the dirt in protest, but his shouts fell silent as though he had been strangled.

Peering down at the agonised man, Lucius held no sympathy. It occurred to him that Lupin meant something to Severus, for Lupin's freedom had certainly seemed to matter plenty given that Severus was willing to risk his own safety for it. However, Lucius had no illusions about playing the hero. His task was to survive. If he could spare those for whom he cared a bit of pain or death, he would do so provided it was little risk to himself, but he was not going to let Lupin go free just to satisfy Severus. To do so would be a certain invitation to suspicion, and while Lucius cared precious little about the opinions of his fellows, he had no interest in provoking Voldemort's wrath. He knew what the man was capable of, had seen him destroy a dozen loyalists in one go when he was displeased, and Lucius had no intention of being killed for the werewolf, whatever Severus desired.

"Listen to me," he repeated, as Lupin made eye contact. "You transformed last night. You became a werewolf, and killed Severus Snape."

"No," Remus croaked, whimpering against the pain as Lucius reapplied the Cruciatus. "No -- he -- he transformed -- survived --"

Lucius' eyes widened in surprise, though he dismissed Remus' comments as the babbling of a madman. Wizards would say anything under torture, as he well knew. They would confess to crimes they had never committed, accuse the innocent, betray their deepest friends, in order to be freed of the torment. Sometimes their stories grew wild and beyond belief when they slipped into semi-consciousness as the pain grew too great.

"No, he did not. Severus was an ordinary man, not a werewolf, Lupin. You know this." Glaring he peered into the werewolf's eyes. "Now listen! You killed him. You attacked him, he died after a long struggle. Do you understand? You killed him. Snape is dead."

Tears formed in Remus' eyes, and he made to twist away from Lucius. "No…."

"Yes. Tell me."

Slowly, the words were torn from Remus. "Sev -- Severus is d - dead?"

Lucius nodded curtly. "Who killed him?"

"I don't know! I don't know!" Remus shouted, thrashing around under the pain of the spell.

"Wrong. You did it. Listen to me now, listen. You killed Severus Snape. You hunted him last night after you transformed into a werewolf. Werewolves hunt any prey, and he was already injured and bleeding. He was powerless and unarmed, and you killed him after a short struggle. He is dead by your hands, Lupin. You killed him."

"But -- no -- Severus!"

"Where is he?"

Remus' voice was heavy with agony. "He's dead."

"Really?" asked Lucius, the picture of surprised innocence. "How did he die?"

"I don't --"

Lucius grimaced and reapplied the curse, hitting Remus with it as hard as he could. The other man screamed and shouted, flailing for escape, yet found no respite as Lucius poured his anger and frustration into the spell. At last he relented. "Where is Snape?"

"Dead." Remus sounded shell-shocked and spoke in a grim monotone. "Oh no," he said, whimpering. His voice was leaden, miserable. "He's dead. Oh, Severus."

"And how did he die?"

"I killed him," Remus confessed. Then he screamed, horror-stricken and mad, his eyes glaring up at the sky as though he wished to curse all of creation. His fists slammed into the ground even though the Cruciatus no longer held, and he wrenched himself onto his side, curling into a foetal position and continuing to scream his agony and remorse to the universe as he beat the dirt beneath him in the fury of regret. "Severus!"

Overwhelmed at the display of emotion, Lucius drew back a few steps. He cocked his head, watching Remus as he struggled with the guilt. Remus was in his human shape, but he howled as wolf-like as anything Lucius had ever heard before, sounding out a warning of his guilt and danger. Satisfied, if disconcerted, Lucius nodded to himself. The memory charm was complete, and he felt certain it would hold. The Cruciatus would cement it in place, as Lucius had hoped it would, so that every time Remus' thoughts returned to the questions Lucius had taught him false answers for, he would remember agony and believe he really had done Severus in. It was a good plan, Lucius supposed. If the werewolf confessed the lie with the degree of pain currently on display, not a single Death Eater would have difficulty believing it.

"Lupin," he spoke after several moments. "Get up."

Remus lay face down in the dirt, panting from the exertion of his self-hatred. He shook his head once, scarcely hearing the command.

"Open your eyes. Look at me!"

Remus opened his eyes, but he was sightless. His eyes were matted with dirt and tears, and peered without seeing in Lucius' direction. Remus' face had gone an unnatural sort of white, a colour more stark than pallor, and his eyes were the bright orange-gold of a newly risen harvest moon. The skin around his eyes and mouth was purpled and bruised. He'd broken blood vessels crying, so that the whites of his eyes were shocking red. Remus was mostly feral, having worked himself into a state of grief too painful to endure, so that his human personality had begun a swift retreat. It would be easier not to feel, not to think.

"You are going to kill Bellatrix Lestrange," Lucius spoke softly. His voice was breathy, and he could scarcely believe what he was saying, but the swell of power was heady, and so he continued. He gestured towards Bellatrix. "Fall upon her. Rip out her throat."

Mutely, Remus accepted this. He was in a netherworld where neither his human side nor the wolf had full control, and he was out of touch with his senses. Even his own body felt awkward, slightly beyond his ability to control it. Nonetheless, he dragged himself forward, not walking on four legs nor drawing himself up to march on two. He crossed the distance, and looked at the still body lying there. It was alive, though how he knew he could not say. The chest rose and fell with breath, and there was an audible heartbeat, but Remus was conscious of neither. He did not look to Lucius for further instructions or confirmation, but simply did as he had been told, bending his head and sinking his teeth into Bellatrix's skin. He jerked his head and tore, creating a deep wound that splashed him with hot blood.

Aroused by the pain, Bellatrix opened her eyes. She flung her hands out and pushed at Remus, who was untransformed but growling like a wolf at prey nonetheless. Paling, feeling a fear she was unaccustomed to, Bellatrix realised he had hurt her, and badly. She struck out at him, punching and shoving.

Lucius frowned, the adrenaline draining from him as he realised that part of his plan was not going according to his wishes. Idly, feeling disappointed, he called to Remus to stop, then cast a Stunning spell over him, causing Remus to drop to the ground, immobile.

"My dear Bella!" Lucius began cordially, hitting just the right note to sound concerned. "Your neck!" Bellatrix gaped at him, her hands clutching the wound, and Lucius regretfully raised his wand and cast a spell to being healing her, watching with annoyance as the torn flesh mended itself. Her clothes and skin remained stained with blood, evidence of the near miss, and Lucius pursed his lips. "He's gone mad," Lucius said, indicating Remus. "Lost his mind when he realised what he'd done."

Bellatrix tried to speak, but her throat was still not completely well. She blinked up at Lucius in curiosity, all the while shooting nervous glances at Remus. Mutely, she asked the question.

"Yes, Snape is dead," Lucius said. "He will trouble the Dark Lord no more." He kicked Remus in the arm with the toe of his boot. "Shall we bring this one back then, to the pen with the other wolves?"

Hoarsely, Bellatrix tried to speak. "Should kill him now," she murmured, barely audible. Wincing at the pain from her healing throat, she drew back her own foot and administered a kick much harder than Lucius had done, striking Remus directly across the face with a blow that split his lip and broke his nose. "Bastard," she said hatefully, but her hands shook even though she wished the fear to leave her. After all her taunting and teasing, Lupin had never raised a finger to hurt her. She had judged him far too meek for such actions, given than he had to be threatened before he could be persuaded to do any killing in the Dark Lord's service. To have been wrenched from unconsciousness to find him tearing at her with blind, animal fury had been more than disconcerting; for once, Bellatrix considered she may have met her match. Instead of gawking jokingly at the blood pouring from Remus' mouth and nose, she shuddered, looking away. "You bring him. I'll go on ahead."

"Of course," said Lucius reasonably. He smiled grimly, assuming Bellatrix would mistake his annoyance for anger at Lupin. For a moment he watched her moving ahead. Her gait was slow and awkward, and she crashed through the trees like a wounded animal instead of the well-bred pureblood that she was. Lucius fingered his wand a moment, feeling the smoothness of it between his fingers. He itched to raise it, to cut her down, the snobby woman who had been a thorn in his side ever since he had pledged his loyalty to Voldemort. Once he had taken Narcissa as his wife, it had only gotten worse. Bellatrix assumed herself to be the most powerful between them, and bossed him with disregard, as though she were his superior. It was infuriating, but never so much as recently, when she had started to let his secrets slip. That the sensitive information about himself and Draco could be heard by the wrong ears unnerved him, but Bella was careless, almost threatening him by being so bold.

With a sigh, he stowed the wand. It was too risky to take her life, though Lucius felt certain he ran no risk of feeling regret. She was too valuable to the Dark Lord. Besides, morning had come on fully, and the others would be rising. It was impossible to guess who might catch sight of him at an inopportune moment.

It would be a simple matter to spell Lupin's unconscious body into floating at his side, but Lucius wanted to expend a bit of useless energy, lest his emotions show through. He bent and grabbed a fistful of Lupin's air with one hand, taking Lupin's left arm with the other. Angrily, he dragged him carelessly through the brambles and grasses, not caring for the thorns that tore at Remus' skin nor the drops of blood that spilled, here and there, to mark a trail. He supposed the boy werewolf would scent it, once the humans had gone from the paddock, and follow it back to the manor, where he could be reprehended and replaced in Fenrir's quarters.

* * *

"No! No!" Severus shouted, his voice echoing across the distant moor. It failed to penetrate the thick fog that engulfed him like a blanket, obscuring his vision and hiding nearly all sound from him. The only thing he could hear was the far off roar of the sea, but it too was muted, like someone had turned the volume down across the world. "Remus! Damn it, Lucius." He swatted at the air in front of him, searching for something solid to grasp hold of, but there was nothing left. The manor, he knew, was many miles away, and there would be no means of safe return to the place he had left.

Cursing under his breath, Severus took out Mulciber's wand, letting light pour from the tip in hopes of illuminating his surroundings. Instead, the light had the opposite effect. The air around him became white blindness, impenetrable, as though he were inside a cloud. The wind was cold and wet, and Severus shivered in it, overcome with confusion and determination. He needed to return, he knew that, but he could see no way to do so that would not be suicide. Any appearance on Malfoy property would be picked up immediately, and he would be reprehended and killed before he even had a chance to locate Remus, let alone escape with him.

"Lucius," he muttered in a low, dangerous sort of voice. Then, his fingers closing in on the wand, he closed his eyes, preparing to Apparate.

* * *

Hermione lifted her head wearily, checking the progress on the boys ahead. They were still a little way off, perhaps a few hundred feet ahead, though their pace was slackening as well as exhaustion set in. The tones of conversation had changed during the long walk through the hills. At first, the argument had been heated. Harry had protested nearly every suggestion on offer, unwilling to risk any lives, and independently determining that the entire responsibility for Lupin's rescue should be placed firmly on his own shoulders. He would not hear of Ginny returning to the manor, and the two of them had gotten into a screaming match that had left Ginny in tears, but still grimly determined, ignoring Harry as she trudged on. Fred and George, who had been buoyant with excitement at the prospect of rescue, had grown more and more quiet. Now, they forced themselves forward, scarcely talking. Harry still mumbled to Ron, complaining about Snape primarily, but Ron was too tired to do anything except nod occasionally.

"Ginny," Hermione whispered. She felt the red-head stir out of daydreams beside her. "How are you holding up?"

Shrugging, Ginny twisted her neck to shake out a crick. "I'll be fine," she said stoically. All the same, she pressed one hand over her heart, wishing she could silence the rapid pounding of her heart. Hope was blooming, but with it came fear. _What if Sev's hurt_? she wondered frantically. _Or Remus? All on my account. I don't think I could stand it._

"You were in the prisons under the manor, isn't that right? What can you tell me about them?"

"I already told my brothers…." Ginny started, but Hermione shook her head.

"Tell it again. Tell me. Every detail you can remember, please," Hermione said. She was so tired that it was difficult for her to concentrate, but she wanted as much knowledge as she could get about the situation. There were no books to turn to, so she would have to make do with Ginny's first hand observations. "And anything else about the place, too."

They had chosen not to Apparate anywhere near the manor, frightened that there might be patrolling Death Eaters on duty. If they foolishly blundered into the midst of them unawares, it would be extremely difficult to get out of the situation. Walking the slopes for miles would give them time to notice anything out of the ordinary before they stumbled into a trap, but it was hard going. All of them save for Ginny were used to the routines of Apparition, not miles of endless plodding, and she had not been given much opportunity for exercise since being taken captive. None of them were as strong as they would have liked.

Forcing herself to think, Ginny nodded. "Most of the time, when they first brought me in especially, I was too distraught to focus. I think I went mad, for a time, down there, especially once they separated me from my parents." She wet her lips unhappily, grimacing. "However, I know there are two floors dominated by cells. When I was brought in, nearly all the cells were full. Later, when I left, about half were empty. I didn't have much time to look, though. When the Death Eaters dragged me out for questioning I was to scared to concentrate, and when Severus brought me out, we were in a hurry and I was busy sticking near Remus --" She broke off, half-glancing at Hermione nervously. The other girl said nothing, so Ginny continued. "The whole system is underground. I'd say there were a dozen cells, give or take, on the floor I spent most of my time on."

Hermione considered this. "How did you get into the prisons?"

"There is a staircase that leads down from one of the great rooms in the manor. It's a huge place, all marble floors, very ornate. I believe it's towards the back of the house. If you head down the stairs, you come to the prison. None of the doors are locked except at the bottom, and of course all the cells are locked, and inside them you can't do magic. Not even the Death Eaters could, if they were inside. Otherwise, there are halls that lead to the different wings, and all the staircases seem to go up. Most of the bedrooms are up there. The suite I was in --"

"Suite?" Hermione looked up sharply. "What do you mean? They keep prisoners up there too?"

Blushing, Ginny drew a deep breath. "Not exactly. Some of the Death Eaters have their accommodation there. Only a few of them stay each night, usually in one of the guest rooms. I'm not sure if they are assigned to stay there, or chose to, or how it's decided. A half dozen are usually upstairs at any given time, from what I saw. The Malfoys live up their too. They are on the first floor, but there are three floors up after the ground floor, I think."

"If it isn't a prison, why were you there?"

Debating for a moment, Ginny made eye contact with her friend. Something unspoken hung between them, and as if on cue, they both watched as the boys moved on further ahead, hanging back to ensure their conversation was silent. After a long moment, Ginny spoke.

"I stayed there with Severus."

Puzzled, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "With Snape? But why?"

"He -- he --" Ginny faltered, watching as Fred's shining hair vanished over the hill. "He -- they -- they're all mad, the Death Eaters," she said quietly. "A lot of the prisoners are kept in the cells downstairs, but some of them are killed, for sport or training. Bill -- they killed Bill." She registered Hermione's horrified expression. "Greyback the werewolf killed him. Don't tell Ron, or the twins, okay? It'll destroy them. I think they must know the truth, but they probably don't believe it yet, and I don't want them to have to face it."

"Of course," Hermione whispered.

"The prisoners they don't kill…well, some of us are valuable. Some, they torture for secrets and information. Others, they do things to them, either put the Imperius curse on them or drive them mad, and use them as fighters. I'm afraid that is their plan for Remus." Ginny bit her index fingernail, sighing worriedly. "Some, they keep for…other reasons."

"What?" Hermione asked, but then she guessed. She gasped, paling. "Oh, Ginny."

Attempting a dismissive shrug, Ginny tried her best to smile. "It's okay. I -- well, Severus was worried that they would kill Remus and I, because neither of us had any secret information, so he came up with a plan to keep us alive. He told them that Remus would be useful to them, and that he supposed Remus would come around and join them, in time."

"They believed --"

"Yes, they did. But I'm worried now, they might be right. Oh, he'd never willingly join them," Ginny amended as Hermione made to protest. "Nothing like that. But they forced him to do things, bad things. They made threats. When I was still being held there, they made him kill somebody. Trelawney. They said if he didn't do it, they'd kill me, to punish him. Now that I'm gone, they can't do that, but there are other prisoners to threaten him with, and they could curse him, if they could find a way to make him defenceless."

Hermione lifted her chin. She was still tired, but did her best not to look it. "We'll find him. We'll get him out."

"Yes."

"And you?" Hermione asked softly. "Did they -- did you have to kill anybody?"

"No," Ginny said. There was bitterness in her voice. "They -- I was given to Severus. For -- for -- as a prize -- you can understand I'm sure. He told them he wanted me -- you know --"

"Oh, my God," Hermione said desperately. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she reached for Ginny, to hug her, but the other girl drew back.

Ginny forced a thin smile. "It's fine, really. It's -- it wasn't his fault. That was the only way. He had to convince them he wanted me for himself, or else they would have decided to get rid of me. It was bad, for a time, but I can accept that. He's actually so different than what you remember, Hermione, nothing like he acted as a professor. He's actually, well, I won't say sweet, but he isn't cruel either, not anymore. Least, he wasn't to me. I lived in that suite with him some -- they had Remus in one too, by himself, hoping to convince him to join. Then Severus and I moved to his house. It wasn't bad, he did it to save me."

"Still," said Hermione bitterly. "I can't believe it of him. Snape!"

"Snape what?" shouted George curiously, smiling in confusion.

Both girls looked up quickly. The twins, Ron and Harry were standing on the top of the grassy hill, bemused and waiting.

"Hurry up, will you?" Fred called. "I can see a house from here, a big one. Might be that manor of Malfoy's, but I can't be sure. Ginny, can you tell?"

With a warning glance at Hermione, communicating the need to keep her confession silent, Ginny hurried up the rest of the way and stood beside her brothers. She shaded her eyes with one hand; dawn had come and the light was bright. Frowning, she nodded gravely. Instead her chest, her heart quickened and she felt her breath going fast and shallow. "Yes," she said after a moment. "That's it."


	27. Folie dans la Maison

**Folie dans la Maison **

"A lie would have no sense unless the truth were felt as dangerous." - Alfred Adler

* * *

"Bella --!"

Narcissa Malfoy uttered a thin shriek as the front door of the manor opened, exposing her sister standing there in the doorway. Thin rivulets of blood wound a warm river between Bellatrix's interlaced fingers, defying her as she attempted to stem the flow with pressure from her palms.

"Bellatrix!" Narcissa said again, shocked as she examined her sister. Bellatrix's face was a stark, unhealthy white. A weaker woman would have already collapsed due to the blood loss and shock, but Bellatrix held on. However, she looked dizzy and ill at ease. Blood was smeared across her neck and crimson stains marred her fine clothing. Her dark eyes were wide and staring. "What happened?" Narcissa hurried toward her sister, but Bellatrix shoved her away. She brushed past, refusing to answer, seeming not even to notice Narcissa's presence.

Frightened, Narcissa watched as Bellatrix stumbled, leaning against a nearby wall for support. "Here," she spoke, conjuring a simple couch in beige suede. Bellatrix said not a word of thanks, and in fact did not so much as glance at Narcissa, but she sank down upon the couch, leaning back heavily.

Lucius' healing spell had been insufficient to repair the damage Remus had inflicted. The first few layers of skin had been stitched back together, but the exertion of walking back to the manor had torn the ragged wound open again. Worse, it had exacerbated the problem by speeding up the blood flow. Even as she sat there on the couch, clenching the wound closed, Bellatrix's arteries spilled their blood.

"Tell me what's been done to you!" Narcissa implored. "Are we under attack -- Bella!" Terribly worried, Narcissa made to sit down and embrace her sister, but Bellatrix withdrew one hand from her wound and flapped it impatiently, calling for silence.

At that moment, the manor door swung open again, and Lucius appeared. He was dragging a body and breathing a bit heavy due to the effort. A thin sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. For a moment, Narcissa mistook the brunet hair for black, and gasped, thinking that the body Lucius was hauling was Severus, but then Lucius pulled Remus into the manor the rest of the way and threw him down upon the marble floor, and Narcissa saw his face clearly.

"Lucius," she breathed, crossing her arms over her chest to cover her panic. Remus looked dead. His eyes were open but unseeing, and he did not stir nor attempt to make any sounds. He did not appear to have been wounded as badly as Bellatrix, but there was blood all over his face. Uncomfortable, Narcissa looked away. "What's been done to Bella? I asked her, but she won't speak. Let me go get some dittany --"

Raising his head, Lucius made eye contact, his steel grey eyes boring into Narcissa's pale blue ones. His expression was dominating. "Dittany," he spat, sounding more angry than the request warranted. "She was bitten by a werewolf, and your brilliant suggestion is the application of dittany?" Lucius did not raise his voice, and his sarcasm was subtle, but Narcissa shivered nonetheless. She took a step backwards, but Lucius, angry, did not make it that easy to escape. "Your sister will require an advanced healer in order to mend that wound completely, but I daresay she'll live. The matter is irrelevant."

Shocked, Narcissa opened her mouth. "She's my --"

"I know," Lucius said coldly, grabbing Narcissa's wrist. He held on tightly, enjoying the fact that it hurt her. Beneath his fingers, he could feel her wrist bones grinding together. "She never lets me forget." His accent and tone were cultured, but overshadowed with fury. "Where is the Dark Lord?"

"He -- I --" Narcissa began stammering. She felt Lucius increase his pressure on her wrist, and glared at him, her expression fiery. "I've no idea!"

"He's not here? He hasn't come yet?" Lucius asked.

Shaking her head, Narcissa jerked away from her husband's grip. Flustered, she rubbed her arm to ease away the pain, concerned over Lucius' behaviour. He was prone to getting upset when things did not go his way, but he had seemed contented of late. The Dark Lord's favour had been restored to him, and he was no longer treated like a servant in his own home. Narcissa had no idea what to make of his violence.

"No, he's -- Lucius!" she snapped as he turned and hurried over to the door, closing and locking it. "What are you --"

"Quiet," he said, his voice calmer, though still clipped. Lucius glanced at Bellatrix. She was curled on the couch, apparently asleep; it seemed she had passed out. One hand had fallen slack from her neck, exposing the bright red wound and purple bruising. It was still bleeding heavily, staining the couch and soaking her hair. He smiled thinly.

Following his gaze, Narcissa blanched. "Bella!"

"Leave her," Lucius said emotionlessly. He frowned, glancing at Remus. "The Dark Lord must be summoned, and soon, but first, I wish to tell you something."

"Yes?"

He turned on her, stern. "It must be kept secret, Narcissa. Protected at all costs."

"Of course," she assented, frowning. "What?"

He bent low, whispering into her ear. "Severus, he's --"

"Cissy," called Bellatrix. Her voice was weak, and she grimaced as she spoke, but she was alert.

"What?" prompted Narcissa to her husband, but Lucius pulled away from her, looking grim. He glanced at Bellatrix, wrinkling his nose as if encountering something distasteful. "Lucius?"

"Nothing. It is nothing. Don't speak of it any further." He beckoned for her to join her sister. "I shall summon the Dark Lord. He can decide what to do with the werewolf."

Forcing herself to sit up, Bellatrix made a face. "Should -- kill him -- what he did." She grabbed her throat, applying new pressure to the wound, and swallowed tightly, despising the pain. Weakness and disability frightened her, as did the reality that she had been bitten by a werewolf. Remus had not been transformed, but Bellatrix was still terrified, like almost all purebloods, of infection and contagion, and being transformed into a dark creature considered so much lesser than a wizard.

Narcissa paled, gaping at Bellatrix and then looking with horror at Remus. "He -- _Lupin_ did this?"

Nodding, Bellatrix managed a glare. "I'll kill him," she spoke, with effort.

"It's for the Dark Lord to decide," Lucius said. He reached for his sleeve and pulled it up, exposing the black tattoo across his forearm. Deliberately, he pressed it, feeling the electric tingle through his bloodstream, and the pain as well.

"Least he killed -- Snape --" Bellatrix said, with great effort. She looked into Narcissa's eyes, noting with some surprise but also with pleasure the shock writ there. She had warned Narcissa time and again not to fall for the wizard's ploys, but the two had always seemed friendly, and Bellatrix had known that Narcissa was fond of Severus.

Blanching, Narcissa turned mutely to Lucius. She shook her head, covering her mouth with one hand.

Lucius nodded. "Yes," he said in reply to the unspoken question. _There's no need to tell her the truth_, he told himself. _It's dangerous_. Already, he was uncertain whether his Occlumency would hold out against interrogation. Hopefully, the Dark Lord would accept Lupin's tearstained testimony and the matter would be closed, but Lucius knew that any suspicion aroused was dangerous, and to let anyone else in on the secret potentially fatal. Even Narcissa was beyond his trust. "He's dead."

"No!" Narcissa whispered, gaping from Lucius to Remus. "No -- no --"

"Yes," said Bellatrix, with effort. She forced a cold smile that seemed to cause her a great deal of strain, and she rubbed her throat in annoyance.

Weak, Narcissa lowered herself to the ground. Her entire body felt numb, and she had no energy, as if she had been the one who had been wounded, not Bellatrix. Every instinct warned her to maintain proper appearances. It would not due to show her misery, particularly once the other Death Eaters joined them. When the Dark Lord arrived, he would expect his followers to wear expressions of triumph and satisfaction, and to join in the celebration that yet another foe had been vanquished. Any failure to meet his expectations would arouse suspicion, and that meant danger, but even so, Narcissa found she could scarcely control the outpouring of grief. Her tears were delicate, just a few teardrops fell, and she did not howl with remorse or rip at her hair or do anything drastic, as she might have done if she were alone. Still, she could no more stop her lip from trembling than she could repair the werewolf bite upon her sister.

She had known Severus, it sometimes seemed, her entire life. In truth, they had never met until Severus' first year as a student in Hogwarts, and their friendship had remained mostly superficial until late in his fifth year, as Narcissa completed her seventh and prepared to leave school. It was then that Severus had fully given himself over to an appreciation of the Dark Arts, and when he had finally realised that a woman from the family Black could be useful in procuring new knowledge. Narcissa herself had not shared his interests in potions brewing, nor his love of long, tedious hours spent researching in dusty, ancient manuals, but she had found him interesting to talk to, and allowed him access to the massive library her relatives had amassed over the centuries.

At first, it had been an act of pity. Narcissa did not consider herself overly empathetic, but she was nowhere near as heartless as Bellatrix, and she had witnessed Severus' sufferings throughout their shared years at school. He had defended himself well against James Potter and Narcissa's cousin Sirius, but the fights were usually unfairly matched, and Severus often lost, or came away badly hurt and humiliated. Narcissa was not given to rooting for an underdog, preferring to align herself with more powerful wizards, but something about his spirit had intrigued her. Once he had made the break with Lily, a foolish friendship Narcissa had never understood, she had taken him under her wing. To her surprise, she often found herself chatting with him in classes, and in the summers, when he spent long hours at her house forever reading, she sometimes brought him tea as an excuse to talk to him more. He proved surprisingly bright and also a good listener, so the talk had slowly evolved past simplistic subjects into more personal conversations. Severus had been the only person Narcissa had ever confided to about her fears upon marrying Lucius. She had ranted against Bellatrix, once admitting regret that she and Andromeda no longer spoke, though of course she had maintained it was all Andromeda's fault.

Through the years, they had grown closer. Severus, even, had taken the terrible chance of confessing his changed loyalties, a few months after Lily had been murdered. Narcissa had been shocked and dismayed, but had agreed to be sworn to secrecy, and she had never uttered a word. She had told Severus about the problems in her marriage, and more recently, her own growing convictions that Lord Voldemort would never deliver on his promises. Once, she had even uttered that she thought he was incapable of coming through on everything he had promised his Death Eaters. She had spoke of her fear for her misguided son, and her terror that Voldemort would consider him disposable. Now, Severus was gone, and she was alone.

"Get up!" hissed Bellatrix, prodding her sister with her fingers. "Narcissa!"

Snatched out of her thoughts, Narcissa goggled at her sister. "I -- can't --"

"Do not provoke my ire, woman." Lucius' tone was calm; in fact he sounded quite contented, but his words were spoken through gritted teeth, and he glared down at Narcissa before grasping her shoulder and hauling her to her feet. "Are you mad?" he hissed. "The Dark Lord has been summoned! He shall be here before long. You must not be seen in this state." He felt Narcissa struggling and released her harshly, shoving her away. "Go on then, back upstairs. If the Dark Lord wishes all to assemble, I will come and find you."

Sniffing, Narcissa, turned without a word, and made for the staircase. She was halfway up the flight when she heard a soft sound of a door opening.

It was Draco, stepping out of the room that was Lucius' private study. In the early morning light, his hair was shot through with gold. His skin seemed translucent, every vein on display, and he appeared peaky and exhausted, with shadows under his widened eyes. Dressed in pyjama bottoms, he blinked at Narcissa. Then, he spoke.

"What's going on down there? I thought I heard shouting!"

Without looking Draco in the eye, Narcissa nodded slowly. "Yes, that was me. I'm afraid your aunt Bellatrix has been wounded, but it is nothing beyond your father's capability to heal." She frowned, slightly. "What are you doing in that room?"

Blushing, Draco stared at his toes. His feet shifted as though searching for a comfortable spot on the carpet. "He," he began in a heavy voice, but as Narcissa looked at him, he grew flustered and silent. Shaking his head, his cheeks burning deeper scarlet, Draco looked away. "Nothing. Just looking for Father."

"He's downstairs," Narcissa said, feeling leaden.

Draco nodded. Then he frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Narcissa said, but her voice was heavy with sorrow. "Draco…."

"What?"

"I'm afraid --" She broke off, glancing over her shoulder and downstairs. Bellatrix was supine on the couch, tracing the scars that formed over her wound with her index finger. Lucius paced. "Here," she said, moving a few paces beyond the stairs, where they were less likely to be overheard. "I'm afraid I have bad news," she said gently as Draco joined her down the hall.

His silvery eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, then hastily looked away. Narcissa could see darkness in his expression. He was closed off, containing secrets. She shivered.

"Tell me."

With a sigh, Narcissa touched Draco's shoulder delicately. If Severus had been the closest she had known to a friend, he had been much more to her son. A professor, yes, but also a mentor and confidante, perhaps more. Draco had idealised the man for ages, talked of him incessantly, relied upon him, spoken to him, learned from him. Without Severus there to steady him, she feared Draco might do something foolish. Already, he aroused the Dark Lord's suspicion. His bows to his master were not fluid and gracious, but stiff, and he stared back sullenly, radiating clearly that he obeyed solely from fear, not loyalty. That he was scared of Voldemort was plainly obvious, and disconcerting. The others had a healthy fear of the dark wizard too, but felt a tremendous respect for him and were in awe of his presence. Draco, however, no longer idolised him at all, and that meant danger for the whole family. Still, Narcissa reasoned, it was better he find out the truth from her than hear it during a meeting, when the shock would prevent him from concealing his emotions.

"Draco…sit down." It was stalling, and Narcissa knew it, but it worked.

"What is it?" Draco asked again, apprehensive. "Am I -- have I been assigned --"

Shaking her head, Narcissa sat down as well. With one hand she stroked the carpet, soothing it, since her son would no longer allow her to comfort him. "Nothing like that," she explained. "Though, the Dark Lord is coming. He has business to attend to, but I doubt very much he will have any fresh tasks to give you. Your father will make your excuses if need be." She noticed that Draco's jaw tightened at this, and forced herself not to comment. "Draco, Severus was killed last night."

She reached out to touch her son's shoulder, to offer him some modicum of comfort, but Draco drew back as though terrified of her. His grey eyes were wide with absolute shock, and his mouth hung open, slack.

"No," he whispered, then, "NO!"

"Draco, I know it is difficult," Narcissa started to say, but her speech was cut off as Draco screamed.

Draco's voice was pure rage and terror. He leapt to his feet with the grace of a cat, shaking his head frantically and back-pedalling to escape Narcissa's awful news. Wide-eyed, he regarded her, then closed his eyes, drawing his hands up to his face. His hooked fingers clawed at his face, the fingernails creating thin welts, and then he opened his eyes again, as if expecting to see Severus standing there before him.

"Draco --"

Draco's eyes rolled. His teeth flashed like an animal's, and he swung away from Narcissa, vaulting down the stairs. For an instant, his eyes settled on Lucius. Bellatrix rose from the couch, unsteady and surprised, while Narcissa hurried down the stairs after her son, shouting his name as though it might calm him enough to restore him to normal.

Rounding on his father, Draco shook. "Snape's -- dead?" he asked, trembling.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, glaring at his wife for a moment. Narcissa ignored this, hurrying into the room, but Bellatrix stopped her, holding her back as though expecting an explosion. "Yes," Lucius spoke calmly. He sighed. The truth was proving harder to cope with than the lie.

"But he -- no -- no!" Draco covered his ears, drawing back from Lucius.

"You know fully well that he was placed in confinement with Lupin. The full moon was last night. What did you expect?" Lucius addressed this to Narcissa, his annoyance bubbling up. "Fools! Did you think he was indestructible? Go back upstairs, both of you, while I deal with this. You'll only arouse the Dark Lord's anger if he sees you carrying on in this fashion."

Narcissa reached behind herself for the stair railing, and moved backwards up one stair, preparing to bolt up them if Lucius made a move in her direction. Their marriage was not an abusive one, but she was well aware of Lucius' temper, and how quickly it escalated if she did not react appropriately. Draco, however, screamed again, shouting Severus' name. Tears poured from his eyes, then, and he jerked away as Bellatrix attempted to put an arm around his shoulders.

"Leave him alone," Lucius said dully. "Don't reward this outburst. Draco! Upstairs, now!"

Draco froze, falling silent. He was so pale that he seemed bloodless. He stared at Lucius for a long moment, then spun on his heel and ran out the front door, slamming it behind him.

"Let him go," Bellatrix advised as both Lucius and Narcissa hurried towards the door. "He is unimportant now; the Dark Lord will be arriving soon. It's best for Draco if he keeps his distance until he can control himself, you know that."

Narcissa wavered, horror-struck. "Lucius…."

"Bella is right. The boy will come back in due time." Lucius sighed. "Now, Bellatrix, do me the favour of preparing the room for the Dark Lord's arrival, I wish a conversation with my wife before he comes." He glared at Narcissa and crossed the room swiftly, grabbing her arm. "It shan't take long."

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**Author's Note: Death is coming for at least one of the characters in "Lum". You can help decide who stays and who goes over the next few chapters. In your reviews, tell me who ought to live and who you think should die. If you don't feel like reviewing, email me at diekatzen (at) bluebottle (dot) com, or check out my livejournal account at ryeandmistletoe to offer your suggestions. :)**

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	28. Près du Coup Manqué

**Près du Coup Manqué**

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"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Ginny spun around at the sound of the voice, her mouth falling open in surprise. As far she as knew, the others had all fallen asleep hours before. Only she had been left awake, tossing and turning endlessly upon her makeshift pallet without ever finding a comfortable spot, though in all fairness, the mattress was not to blame. Every time she closed her eyes, she had seen Severus' face, contorted with worry and tense with fear, screaming for her to run out the back door with Peter, in order to escape the onslaught of Death Eaters. Often, she had seen Remus too, and had twice awoken with a jolt, sick to her stomach as she realised that she had not seen him in weeks. As far as she knew, he had been given no news about her; most likely, he was sick with worry, perhaps believing her dead. The last time she had been in his presence was the night she had been raped. She had been distraught, an emotional wreck, and Remus had been fierce with concern and anger. Imagining him waiting desperately for information was tortuous, and after a short time of laying in bed staring at the ceiling, she had found her environment unbearable.

"Harry!" Embarrassed, Ginny quickly lowered her wand. She had drawn it on reflex, barely aware of her action, and she could see that Harry was surprised and uneasy by her action. Flushed, she stowed the wand in the pocket of her cloak. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were in bed."

"I heard someone moving out here, and it woke me up. I thought it might be a Death Eater, and I knew I'd better have a look," Harry explained. He frowned. "What about you? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

Shrugging, Ginny sighed. "I can't sleep."

"So you decided to leave?" Harry asked shrewdly, looking her over. Although he was quite certain that Ginny had worn a nightgown to bed, she was at present wearing a dress and tights. Her dark cloak was tied tightly around her neck, and she had her boots on.

Blushing slightly, Ginny shook her head. "Not for long," she said. "I thought I'd walk a bit, and get a closer look at the manor. I remember most of the layout on the inside of the house, but I was never on the grounds, or, at least, I don't recall it. We need to know what we're dealing with. There could be traps. None of us can say for certain what sort of security they have to protect the place, so I thought I'd investigate."

"Alone?" Harry questioned. "In the middle of the night?"

"At least I'd be accomplishing something useful," Ginny answered. There was a pleading note in her voice as she continued urging him to understand. "I can't just sit here, Harry. I know I can't charge into the manor on my own and start rescuing people, but at least I can try to gather more information for us, so we have more to go on. Anything is better than waiting here, for the sun to come up."

Shaking his head, Harry stepped in closer. He set his hand on Ginny's shoulder, a brotherly gesture. "That's not your job."

"So what if it isn't?" Ginny demanded. "Anyway, that's not for you to decide. Somebody's got to act. Remus is trapped in that place, and Severus --"

"Don't call him that," Harry snapped. For a moment, he wore a hateful expression, then he calmed himself, though it took effort. He sighed. "Ginny, I won't allow you to risk your life."

She glared back at him, full of defiance. "It's not your decision to make, Harry, I told you. This is my choice."

Surprised at her rebellious attitude, Harry frowned. "We have a plan, Ginny. We need to work as a group, otherwise it's way too dangerous. It's risky enough already, and that's with all of us there to help each other. You can't just make up your mind to act alone."

"Don't you understand?" Ginny asked desperately. "I feel so guilty!" The words sounded leaden as she spoke them, and her shoulders sagged. "They could have decided to kill me at any moment, there in that prison, but I was protected. I was one of the lucky ones, not that I deserved it. Mum and Dad died in that place! I should have died with them. No, don't," she said hastily as Harry tried to interject. "It's true, so don't waste your breath telling me that it's not. I was fortunate, and I had others who risked everything to help me. Severus did everything in his power to guarantee my safety. He helped me! Now he's trapped inside there, probably being tortured, maybe near death -- maybe he's dead already!" She drew a wavering breath, steeling herself. "He probably could have avoided capture if he had broke and run when the Death Eaters came, but he didn't. I'm sure he'd be free now, if he hadn't wasted his time trying to protect me, but he did. He fought the Death Eaters to give me time to get to safety, and now, because of that -- because of me -- he's a prisoner. Or worse!"

Unmoved, Harry frowned more deeply. He shook his head furiously, unable to make sense of Ginny's words. "Snape deserves what he gets, _anything_ he gets. He made his decision the moment he signed on as a Death Eater! If his old pals have decided to kill him, well that's what he deserves for being a traitor --"

Harry's comment was cut off as Ginny reached out and slapped him, hard, across the face.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare call him that, after everything he's done!" Ginny said harshly. "He saved you, in the Forest of Dean. The Death Eaters would have found you then, and killed you, if he hadn't endangered his life to warn you. He's never been loyal to Voldemort, not since your mother died. Oh," she added angrily as Harry blanched. "But you don't know about that, do you? It doesn't matter that he _loved_ her, and that he did everything to protect her -- all you care about is that he was rough on you in Potions!"

"What about Dumbledore? Did he have a convenient explanation for that, too?" Harry challenged. He ignored Ginny's comments about Severus and Lily's relationship; in his mind, his mother never would have condescended to speak to Snape, much less communicate regularly with him. "I saw what happened that night, Ginny. I was there. Snape _murdered_ Dumbledore. He didn't have to do it, he could have fought the Death Eaters instead, but he killed him anyway -- Dumbledore, who believed in Snape just as much as you apparently do. He's a snake, Gin. A filthy, murdering coward who will do anything, use anyone, in order to get what he wants, and after he has it, and he has no more use for them, he won't even bat an eye if it comes time to kill them." Harry took a deep breath. "Whatever you might want to believe, Snape is never going to be innocent. If he's in trouble now, it's because Voldemort finally realised what I already knew; that he's a traitor and a coward, and he'll betray anybody who gives him half a chance."

Shaking her head, Ginny stood her ground. Crossing her arms firmly, she looked Harry straight in the eye. "You don't know him like I do," she began, but Harry interrupted her.

"What's happened to you, Gin? You used to see sense. I know you've been through a lot, and I'm sure it was all horrible, but you've got to realise, you're seeing Snape all wrong. Whatever he did, I'm sure it seemed like he was helping you, but all he cares about is himself. He's tricked you."

"That's a lie," Ginny spoke. She stared at him defiantly. "I know it. And I _will_ help him, Harry, even if you and the others won't. Him _and_ Remus, I'm going to make sure they both get out. I won't let any more of my loved ones die in that horrible place."

Perplexed, Harry stared down at the freckled face of his best friend's little sister. Ginny looked stronger than he had ever seen her before, despite her obvious mistreatment. For once, she did not seem like a kid to him, nor anything like Ron Weasley's tagalong baby sister. There was new maturity in her eyes; the intensity of her stare unnerved him. Dimly, he remembered the power she had displayed during the lessons he had taught to Dumbledore's Army, and her reputation at school for being a master caster of hexes. He realised he had always sold her short, and written her off as Ron's little sister, rather than a talented, intelligent witch in her own right. He was still, however, perplexed by her attitude towards Snape.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, slowly. He made a face, expressing his anger, and shook his head as if blotting out Ginny's words.

Ginny was not cowed. "I said, '_loved__ ones'_," came her reply. "Remus and Severus both. I love them, I do. You --" she broke off, sighing heavily. "I don't expect you to understand, Harry, and I'm sure you'll never be okay with it, but that's the truth. That's why I can't just stay here in the tent, getting excited about the grand plan. It's not a joke to me."

"It wasn't a joke to me either. In case you've forgotten, Lupin's the last link I have to my parents, and Sirius." He stared down at Ginny, unable to decipher the expression on her face. "Gin --" he started as he reached for her.

"No," she said, withdrawing before he could touch her. She wrapped her cloak more firmly around herself. "Go back inside, Harry. Be quiet, and don't wake the others, please. I'm going now, but don't worry; I'll be back soon."

Hands on his hips, Harry shook his head. "No, Ginny. I'm not allowing you to do this on your --" At once, he fell silent. Eyes widening, he pressed a finger to his lips. Something had definitely stirred nearby, and from the sound of it, it was a person. "Get inside, quick, and warn the others. Something isn't right here. I think they've found us."

Even as Ginny moved towards the tent, the dark figure emerged from the dense foliage. It was a wizard, dressed in a long, black cloak, with dark hair falling over his face. Both Harry and Ginny recognized him at once.

"Snape," Harry snapped coldly, gripping his wand.

"Severus!" Abandoning Harry, Ginny ran towards the man, who hurried out of the woods and walked swiftly toward her. Moonlight shone on her hair, and glinted in her eyes as she ran to Severus. The hope she felt was almost painful. She crashed against him, near tears as she felt Severus' arms go around her, holding her tightly. With one hand, he stroked her hair, then he kissed her, much to Harry's chagrin.

"What's going on?" mumbled Ron as he pulled back the tent flap and rubbed his bleary eyes. He was still dressed in pyjamas, and accompanied by Hermione, who had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders for protection against the cold. Blinking, he gaped at Harry, then looked over to where Severus and Ginny stood, arms intertwined. "Oh," he said heavily, shaking his head slowly in dazed confusion.

Hermione stared. "She found him? But -- how?"

"He found us, more like," Harry said angrily. He held up his wand and began marching in Severus' direction. "And I'm about to find out exactly how he did it. Snape!" he called out, his voice thundering. "Get away from him, Ginny," he said savagely, struggling with more than a little jealousy. "That's Albus Dumbledore's murderer you're snogging."

"Harry, no!" muttered Hermione under her breath. She ducked her head back into the tent, shouting for Fred and George, who seemed capable of sleeping through anything. They rose blearily, looking at her with bewildered, exhausted faces. "We need your help. Snape's here -- and Harry -- he's not thinking --" She broke off, leaping back outside at the sound of raised voices.

" -- away from him!" Ginny was screaming. She had obviously disentangled herself from Severus' embrace for the express purpose of protecting him from Harry, and it was plain both she and Snape had been reluctant to part. He stood immediately behind her, so that their bodies touched, and he had one hand on her shoulder. "You've got to listen, Harry. Be reasonable! He's not one of them, I'm telling you he's not!"

Wand out, Harry grimaced. "I don't know what he's done to you, Ginny, but you've been deceived. He's got you under some spell, I know it. You aren't yourself." He glared. "Don't you realise what he is? He's a killer, a Death Eater -- he's evil, Ginny, you know he is. He betrayed Dumbledore, he taunted Sirius into risking his life, and Sirius ended up dead because of him! Everyone who trusts him, who listens to him, dies!"

"You're just like your father," Severus said coldly. His voice was almost emotionless. The only indication of his feelings was the stiffness of his spine and the tightening of his grip on Ginny's shoulder. "Ignorant, irrational and foolish, as always. You don't know what you're talking about, do you hear me? Nothing, whatsoever. Albus Dumbledore's death was planned --"

"Yeah, by Voldemort," Harry spat. "Ginny, get away from him!"

In response, she held up her wand. "Not until you put down your wand, Harry. I don't trust you! You're so angry that you're not thinking straight; you're not listening to reason. Hermione," she hurried on. "Tell him, won't you? Tell him he's acting mad."

Nodding crisply, Hermione touched Harry's arm. "Harry, give me your wand. This is crazy, you can't just threaten him like this! Listen to what he has to say, at least, and then send him away if you like, but calm down, please! Be reasonable, Harry, don't get carried away."

"Carried away?" Harry demanded. His voice sounded cracked. "This man killed the Headmaster, Hermione. He's been on Voldemort's side all of his life, now who knows how many other innocent people he murdered! Who has already died in those prisons under Malfoy manor, Snape?" he accused wildly. "How many people did you kill there anyway? Ginny's family was taken prisoner; Mr and Mrs Weasley. Are they alive? They aren't, are they?" he said, with heavy finality. Ginny paled, and Harry heard Ron mutter at him to stop, but he was too worked up to control himself. "They're dead, aren't they, and I bet you killed them!"

A flicker of emotion was visible on Severus' features for a moment; everyone present, who was looking at him, could read his guilt. Then he recovered his control, sneering at Harry, contemptuous. "I did what I had to do," he said in a steely voice. "I did what was required of me in order to stay alive."

"Because you're a coward!" screamed Harry. He aimed his wand, firing a hex, which Ginny blocked with a quick swipe of her arm and a shield spell. Behind Harry, the twins shouted as they ran from the tent to their little sister's aid. "You're nothing but a filthy coward, who doesn't mind who gets killed or how bloody his hands are as long as he gets what he wants." Shaking his head, Harry glared with pure fury at the black-haired man. "Tell her," he prompted, almost mockingly. "Tell her you weren't the filthy, murdering bastard who killed her parents. Do it!" he ordered, stabbing his wand in Severus' direction.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a strengthening breath. The hand he had settled on Ginny's shoulder tightened as he clung to her. He stared at Harry, cold fury evident in his eyes, his glare horrible.

"You can't, can you?" Harry said softly. He felt like someone had punched him as he thought of Molly and Arthur Weasley, dropping unmarked and yet unmistakably dead under the green light of the Avada Kedavra. Fred moaned in agony, and Ron fell down heavily onto the grass, his energy drained. Hermione dropped beside him, her arms around his neck, but Harry paid no attention to any of them. He stared across the small space between them, studying Ginny's face, and Snape's.

Ginny blinked, as though she had been awoken by a sudden noise. She stared across the field at her brothers, and Hermione, who were all visibly pained. Their expressions were stricken and miserable. Looking at them, Ginny remember the cold cell she had been in underneath the manor, and how Severus had looked when he had told her the grim news about her family. His face muscles had been taut, his eyes averted, his hands fisted and his body tense. She remembered his ramrod-straight posture, the stiffness of his body. It was the way he felt now too, behind her.

"But, he couldn't have done," she said softly, more to herself than to Harry. Shaking her head slowly, she turned around, staring unblinkingly at the black fabric that covered Severus' familiar body. Unwilling to look at his face, she deliberately raised her head, her expression questioning and bewildered. "He wouldn't -- not ever --" Ginny murmured, whispering. Finally, she looked Severus in the eye. "You didn't, of course you didn't." His jaw tensed, and he looked away, lowering his head even as he wrapped his arms around her. "But...you couldn't have..."

Severus' voice was strained as he spoke. "Ginevra, the -- the Dark Lord gave me no choice --"

"No!" Ginny shrieked. She shook her head violently, her face pale. "Don't tell me! I don't want to hear --it's not possible --" Struggling, she pulled away from his grip and staggered backwards a few steps. "You didn't," she recited, a little mantra. "You didn't, I know you didn't! It's -- you didn't hurt them! You couldn't have killed them -- you helped my brothers and -- no -- no!"

"What did I tell you, Ginny?" Harry said. He no longer sounded triumphant, but rather sad, as well as resolute. "He's a filthy murderer, that's what he is -- that's all he is! At least let's stop him now, before he can hurt anybody else!"

Severus caught hold of Ginny's hand. "Ginny, please," he said imploringly. "Listen to me. They were -- there was nothing I could do. If I had refused, I'd have been killed alongside them; they would have died nonetheless." He clenched his teeth, stricken. "Ginny, I'm sorry, I --" He broke off, unable to say any more. Ginny had started crying; heavy sobs shook her entire body, and she covered her face like a child as she stood there, woefully mourning the loss of her family. "Ginny, can I please just..." Falling silent, Severus reached for her. She did not protest, nor run away, but allowed him to embrace her, holding on to her tightly. She was crying too hard to hear him, but Severus apologised profusely anyway. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"GINNY!" Harry thundered horribly. "Hermione, go help her! She's not thinking, she's letting him --"

But Hermione shook her head. "I think he's right, Harry," she said quietly, flabbergasting him. "I think he probably did have no choice. It's awful, don't misunderstand me. But it doesn't sound like he wanted to, does it?" She patted Harry's hand. "Harry, if she can accept it," Hermione began, indicating Ginny, who had let Severus hold her, "then why can't you let it go?"

"Because he's a killer! He doesn't care about the Weasleys; he probably blew them to pieces as easily as he stole Dumbledore's life. Once a murderer, always, or do you think somebody like Snape somehow stops being evil whenever it suits him?"

"Harry," Hermione said bracingly. "You know that isn't true."

Pushing her away, Harry strode forward, wand out. "All I know is, I'm not leaving him alive to walk away from here. Who knows who else he'll end up killing? SNAPE!" he shouted, stabbing his wand forward. He watched as Snape raised his head. "AVADA --"

As Harry bellowed the spell, Ginny screamed. She could feel Severus shoving her down, out of harm's way, as he ran towards Harry full of fury. Ginny hit the ground, landing on her hands and knees, but jumped up almost immediately, flinging herself towards Severus. "No, Harry, NO!" she screamed as she rose, stumbling towards Severus.

"HARRY!" Ron and Hermione screamed in unison, while Fred and George shouted for their sister to duck and cover.

" -- KEDAVRA!" Harry finished. His face was momentarily lit with triumph as the green light shone, reflecting the temporary madness that had twisted his features. Brutal and determined, he flung the spell forward, aiming it with deadly precision at Severus' heart.

Running haphazardly, Ginny grabbed hold of Severus's sleeve, pulling him back away from Harry. He swung around, his pale features horrified as he looked at her and realised she was in harm's way. He spoke, but Ginny could not decipher his words in the chaos. There was a ringing in her ears, and the heavy sound of her own breathing, as well as the background chorus of Hermione, Ron, Fred and George, all screaming and shouting in a cacophony of sound. Ginny pulled, hard, on Severus' arm, so that he stumbled towards her. With both hands, he pushed her back, accidentally shoving her with too much force in his haste to get her to safety. He slipped, then, his flat-soled boots skating in the mud, and in the time it took to catch his balance, the spell had erupted with a sound like high wind being forced through a narrow tunnel. As he staggered upright he watched the spell explode, like a flash of green lightning. The killing curse crackled. It shone bright for a moment, illuminating them all, and then Ginny screamed, thrusting her hands out against the sudden light, and Severus shouted, and the light slowly faded. Unconscious, Ginny hit the ground.

"What did you -- what have you done?" Hermione shrieked, clawing at her face. She felt the vibrations through the ground; the footfalls of the twins and Ron as they ran. "Harry!" she screamed accusingly as she hurried after them, in panic.

Ginny was on the ground, immobile; Severus was crouched beside her, holding his hands out from his body as though he wanted to touch her but could not quite dare. He shook, shaking his head rapidly, his hands tremulous and inches from Ginny's face. Then he rose.

There was fire in Severus' eyes as he strode rapidly over to Harry, covering an amazing amount of ground with his long legs. "Bastard," he said, coldly, and then he tried to say Harry's name, but his voice rose until he was screaming, overcome with hatred for the boy. "POTTER!" Lunging forward, he grabbed hold of Harry's wrist, snapping it easily and wresting away Harry's wand. As Harry cried out, rubbing his newly broken arm and goggling in horror, Severus held up the wand, preparing to snap it. "You," he spoke, like death. He prepared to say something more, but Hermione's shouts interrupted him.

"She's not -- no, Snape, wait!" Hermione called. She had rushed to Ginny's fallen form, scarcely able to breath through her panic, and she had found George propping his sister up. The girl was breathing, though her breaths were shallow, and she had opened her eyes in confusion. "She's not dead! The curse -- it must have just missed her by a centimetre," she stammered. Her hands trailed over Ginny's cloak and dress, feeling the places where the Avada Kedavra had hit. "Look! Her cloak, and her skirt! They're burned away on one side! But it didn't hit her..." Hermione marvelled, dropping the hem of Ginny's burned dress and clutching Ron's shaking hands. "She's okay, she's...okay."

No more encouragement was needed to persuade Severus to back off. He shot Harry a final glare of pure contempt and hatred that spoke with promise of immense consequences to come, and then shot off towards Ginny. Falling to his knees in the grass, he pushed Fred aside and pulled her away from George, holding onto her defensively. Harry, unable to think very clearly at all, plucked up his wand from where Snape had dropped it in the grass. He held it gingerly, then stowed it away in his pocket, not quite daring to join the others, and not at all certain of what to do next.

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Thanks so much to everybody who reviewed and/or gave suggestions about characters to be kept alive and killed in upcoming chapters. There are going to be more of these "near miss" situations in upcoming chapters; it's a lot more interesting than killing someone outright without warning, but people are still going to die, unfortunately. Or, fortunately, if you had someone you hoped with be offed. :) The next chapter is a pretty dark one, just a head's up. I'll post it by next weekend. Thanks as always for reading!

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	29. L'inattendu

**NOTE: Just a heads up here, but I started working on a little website where I'm going to be putting my fics for archive purposes. I have a couple of these fanfiction (dot) net accounts so that will be a place to consolidate as well as someplace to post drabbles and other stuff I'm not putting up here for one reason or another. It can be found at www (dot) freewebs (dot) com (forward slash) teawithremus. There's a link in my profile now too. Feel fre to take a look.**

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Warning: For character death.

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**L'inattendu**

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"What is it? Lucius! What's going on?" Narcissa Malfoy demanded as she rose from an otherwise sound sleep to the sensation of deep panic. Sitting up rapidly, she blinked against the darkness. Something, a recent explosion, remained visible behind her closed eyelids, a silvery flare, but the bedroom was dark and still and the candles and lamps surrounding the bed were unlit. Instantaneously, Narcissa's thoughts turned to her son. She even made to slip out of bed and rush to Draco's room to check on his safety, until she remembered that he was gone.

Stiffly, Lucius made no gesture to calm his wife. Instead, he ignored her. He too was sitting up straight, his keen flinty eyes searching for explanations. "A light," he commented after a moment, without looking at Narcissa. "A flash," he corrected. "Like a spell cast. I saw it quite clearly, out the window. Something's happening to the north."

Frowning, Narcissa leaned forward for a better view out the window. The scenery was uniformly dark and bland, and all she could make out was the gentle rise of the hills far beyond the manor grounds, and here and there clusters of trees or other tall foliage. Nothing moved, and there was no light.

"Perhaps it's only Muggles, playing with their fireworks," Narcissa suggested.

Impatient, Lucius shook his head. "Impossible. It was green light -- killing curse light. Someone out there just murdered somebody. No Muggle is capable of creating that flash."

"But that's not possible --"

"I know what I saw," snapped Lucius tightly. He pushed back the luxurious sheets and comforter that covered his nude form. Grasping his wand from the bedside table, he flicked it once. On command, a set of neatly pressed dark trousers winged their way to him; he put them on, and then set to work pulling on his boots. "That shade of green -- Muggles don't have that colour, Narcissa, not so as I've ever seen. Besides, there are no Muggles this close to the manor. The village is ten miles away, and the light, it seemed to be less than a mile or two off."

Ill at ease, Narcissa shook her head. She wanted to make sense of it all, to provide an easy solution to the problem that would allow her to slip back into slumber free of worry. "But, well, they walk about, don't they? Perhaps a number of them came up from the village, to camp."

For the first time that night, Lucius looked at his wife. His glare was cold and cutting as he looked her over. "Don't be ridiculous," he spat. "When have you ever seen Muggles on the hills?"

"Well, never, but --"

"Precisely." He finished tying his left boot and stood up, snatching a silk lounging jacket from a nearby hook.

"Where are you going now? You can't just leave the manor -- anyway, it's late! Lucius?" Narcissa asked pedantically. She clutched the curled up hem of the bed-sheet with one hand, and reached for the nearby lamp. "Lucius, tell me what's --"

"Don't switch that light on," Lucius ordered, and Narcissa's hand jerked away from it as though she had been burned. "You want to give away our presence? Someone out there could be watching, checking for any sign that we know of their proximity to the manor. Leave it be."

She paled slightly. "I want to know what's happening."

"As do I," Lucius said crisply as he draped his silk garment over his shoulders and ran a hand through his long, blonde hair, instantly smoothing it. "Which is why I am going to investigate the matter personally. Whoever is out there, prowling around near my home, shooting off killing curses in the middle of the night, had better have a swift answer when I come looking for them."

"But, it's the middle of the night!"

"I'll have Fenrir accompany me, he rarely sleeps and I'm certain he would be excited at the prospect of nocturnal action, tonight of all nights. That should set at ease any lingering fears you may have about my safety," Lucius answered, with a touch of sarcasm.

Narcissa bit her lip reflectively. She could form no argument, but still, she felt nervous instead of reassured. "Lucius..." she began, but when he cocked an eyebrow at her, she faltered. "Can't you also ask some of the others? If you believe it's dangerous, then a party should be sent out."

"Such faith you have in your husband," Lucius quipped in annoyance. He tied the sash of his silk robe and gave his wife a look of contempt. "I have led Death Eater missions numerous times, and yet you despair of my safety when I investigate a suspicious flash on the horizon, which you yourself have already claimed is nothing more threatening than an itinerant pack of Muggles celebrating Merlin knows what. Unless I am mistaken, it seems you no longer regard me as competent." He sneered, leaning in close and threatening. "I advise you to consider how precious little you _do_ know, Narcissa, before attempting to advise me in the future."

Lowering her head slightly, Narcissa affected the pose of someone ashamed, though she did not truly feel it. "I'm sorry. I'm merely worried about Draco -- I've no idea where he's gone, Lucius, and if I lost you as well --"

Unconvinced, Lucius cocked his head. "Let's spare both of us the farce of pretending my loss would be more devastating to you than Severus'. Your priorities have always been in disarray, Narcissa."

"Very well." Narcissa's eyes flashed. "Then let's also stop pretending you care anything for our son, except that you mourn the loss of your ability to give yourself selfish pleasure. Yes, I know," she said forcefully, looking straight into Lucius' eyes. "Lucius..." She trailed off, as a brief spot of blue shone outside, in the darkness, from the same vicinity as the green blast.

"Stay here!" he snapped. "I must attend to the matter at hand, but when I'm finished, we will discuss this," he said, warningly. He glared at her, then spun on his heel, hurrying out the door and slamming it for good measure before he bounded down the stairs, already calling for Greyback.

* * *

"All better," whispered Severus, his face pressed close to Ginny's ear as he cast the last healing spell over the bad burn on her leg, where the curse had slid past her close enough to burn her skirt. "You can open your eyes now, Ginerva," he said, in a far more formal voice as he drew back, conscious of the proximity of the others. "The worst should be over."

Harry, hands jabbed into his pockets, frowned mightily at Ginny's swooning smile. "I could have done that," he said, perturbed.

Severus raised one eyebrow mockingly. "Sure," was all he said, but with a decidedly sarcastic lilt. As furious as he was with the young man's rashness and idiocy, and as much as he wanted to castigate Harry for his foolishness and how close he had come to irrevocable action, Severus forced himself not to go on. He knew that once he started lecturing the boy, his own anger would come pouring out, and Severus did not want to risk anyone's safety by having it out with Harry, knowing the boy's ineptitude and clumsiness might harm others, or even cost a life.

Sitting up slowly, Ginny gingerly touched her leg. The limb felt numb and warm; she could feel the healing spell at work. "Thanks," she said softly as Severus looked her over.

Nodding, he held out the wand he had used. "Here," he said, and then, "This is yours, is it not? May I ask, where did you get this wand anyway? I thought they had broken yours when you were first brought in. In fact, I'm certain of it."

Weakly, Ginny nodded. "It's mine now. Peter -- Pettigrew. He gave it to me, that night they attacked the house."

Fred, George, Ron and Harry pressed in slightly, eager for the truth, while Hermione, who had already heard the full story, with details, leaned tiredly against the propped up tent. Ginny scarcely noticed them, and for Severus' part, he ignored them completely.

"Pettigrew?" he said, in bald shock. Behind him, Harry tensed and the twins looked at each other, trying to place the name.

"Yes. I know it sounds strange, but it's true. Once I went out the back door, Peter and I decided to run for it. I guess we meant to Apparate, but I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time, obviously, and I hardly remember now. All I really remember is the terror. We ran and ran, and some of the Death Eaters caught up to us. Peter -- he fought them. _Some_ of them. He got hit by the Avada Kedavra" -- she shuddered -- "but before he did, he made his wand into a port-key somehow, and once I grabbed it, I was transported to the woods."

"Woods?" Fred interjected, white-faced at the tale of his sister's close encounter.

"By Hogwarts," she clarified. "The Forbidden Forest. But, yes, it was Peter's, and now it's mine." She looked sad for a moment, and blinked up at Severus, stricken. "I didn't want to go, you know. If I'd known it was going to be a port-key, I never would have touched it. All I wanted was a weapon, so I could help you fight them. But I didn't help," she added, with a note of bitterness. "I got to safety."

"A fact for which I am immensely grateful," Severus commented, with feeling. He looked at her seriously. "Once I heard from Lupin that you have survived --" he broke off, shaking his head, unable to voice his thoughts. _I think it was what kept me going_. "I -- I was very relieved," he said carefully, slightly embarrassed.

Hermione leapt up, spurred by the name. "Lupin? You've seen him?"

"How long ago?" Ginny demanded, equally excited. "How is he? Have they hurt him badly?"

"He has had better days, let me assure you," Severus said dryly. "However, the last time I saw him, he was in reasonably good health, and his perpetual optimism seems to have kept him in a relatively stable frame of mind."

Harry glared, setting his jaw. "If you saw him, how come you didn't take him with you? Why didn't you bring him when you left?"

Severus drew a long, deep breath. "I did not simply leave, as you suggest, Potter. One hardly waltzes out of the prisons on one's own whims. My escape was lucky; I am fully willing to admit I deserve no spectacular credit for derring do in this case. It was chance, good fortune. Lupin was simply not afforded the same opportunity." Grimly, he remembered how light he had felt, leaping the fence, believing that Remus would be joining him in freedom, thinking the worst was behind him. "Would I had the opportunity to take him with me, I most certainly would have done."

"I know," said Ginny, at the same moment Harry snorted in derision.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said. "Like you care about Lupin's life at all. I remember the way you treated him that year he taught at Hogwarts. You kept trying to get him sacked!"

Ginny turned fiercely. "Harry, that was years ago --"

Severus set his hand on her shoulder, and shook his head slightly. "No, no, let him go on and get it out of his system. Go on, Potter. Share your criticisms with all of us, tell us how much of a hero you are, keeping in mind that if Ginevra had stood an inch to the side when you rashly fired that curse, she wouldn't be here to listen right now."

Blushing and angry, Harry stalked away. He kicked open the tent flap and stormed in, away from the rest of them.

"Oh," said Hermione sadly, watching as the tent flap fluttered closed. From within came muffled swears delivered in a fiercely whispered tone.

"Never mind him," George said, with valiant effort as he elbowed Ron playfully. "He's just upset, but he'll come around." Cheerfully, he ruffled his brother's hair until Ron jerked away, looking put out.

Ron sighed. "No, he won't. And I don't see why he should either," he went on, addressing himself to his brothers, though Ginny, Hermione and Severus were all within earshot. "Snape's a murderer, you know. Harry's right -- he did kill Dumbledore. Even if he's reformed, or done some good stuff, that doesn't mean he's a saint, right? I don't think you can expect Harry to forgive him."

"Like he requires Harry's forgiveness," Ginny said, her eyes narrowed. "What happened to Dumbledore was all planned!"

"Ginevra," Severus interjected, reaching for her hand. "As much as I delight in your willingness to come to my defence, I think the subject has reached the stage of -- how do we term it? 'Beating a dead horse', isn't that right? I am hardly concerned with Potter's personal feelings toward me. As I understand it, you have all come here to see about rescuing Lupin, and in that endeavour I can be of assistance." He looked coolly toward Ron, who shrugged, glanced at Hermione, frowned, and made for the tent. Ignoring this, Severus remained calm. "I suppose you have some sort of plan?"

"We thought of using Polyjuice," Hermione said brightly. "And sneaking into the manor."

Severus was almost amused by her tendency to supply answers. He was half surprised not to see her arm shoot eagerly into the air like it had at school, when she had been most insistent, borderline disruptive, in her excitement to provide the right answer to his questions.

"Polyjuice," he said softly. "As a disguise, you mean?"

"Yes," Hermione answered.

Nodding, Severus looked to Ginny. "And your role in all of this?"

"We haven't decided everything yet. I don't know," she admitted with difficulty. "When I came out here a bit ago, I was going to walk down near the manor, to get a scope on the grounds and what we're dealing with trying to enter. I'm unfamiliar with all that, and no one else here has been inside, so I thought we could use the information." She sighed. "Harry found me, and he didn't think that was a good idea, which is why we were out here when you came."

"For once, I find myself in agreement with Mr Potter," Severus said. "How distasteful," he added as an afterthought. "It would not be safe to send you, or anyone, out alone to investigate, and I can tell you from vast experience, the likelihood of anyone venturing near enough to learn anything being caught -- well, the odds are astronomical. I am also at odds with the idea of using disguises such as the Polyjuice. While I trust you know enough from your close observation during your imprisonment, no one else in this group has seen Death Eaters closely enough to know their individual quirks, mannerisms or habits. Right?"

Deflating, Hermione nodded while Ginny sighed.

"That's true," Ginny agreed reluctantly.

With uncharacteristic charity, Severus shrugged. The action surprised Hermione, who goggled at him in shock, though Ginny took it in stride. "It wasn't wholly faulty," he said, "just not good enough. Polyjuice has merits, although one must be reasonably equipped with factual information about personality, gestures, codes, inflection, that sort of thing. But in any case, even if one could enter the manor and leave freely, it's another matter entirely to escape with a prisoner."

"Several prisoners, at least," chimed in George. Beside him, Fred nodded vigorously.

"Yeah!"

Severus raised his eyebrow quizzically. "Precisely how many prisoners are you intending to rescue, aside from Lupin, of course?"

Fred crossed his arms over his chest, looking unflappable. "Well, all of them, I say."

"All?" Severus' eyebrow rose further.

George straightened up, his posture indicating his seriousness. "We aren't leaving anyone behind. Whether we know them or not doesn't matter; nobody deserves to be left in that place! We're not going to allow anyone else to be -- to be tortured and murdered, like our family." He winced, and seemed tense even after Fred slung his arm over his shoulders in a brotherly gesture.

Ginny forced a pleading smile. "It -- otherwise it really wouldn't be fair --"

"Fair?" Severus cocked his head slightly, as though he'd never heard of such a word and could not immediately identify its meaning. "Fair," he repeated, trying it out. "Fair has nothing to do with it," he stated eventually, his voice even. He addressed his remarks to Ginny, although Hermione was listening keenly and biting her fingernails, and the twins were still nodding. "You alone among your -- " he grimaced "-- friends have firsthand experience within the Malfoy dungeons. I trust you have not forgotten what it was like?"

Shaking her head, Ginny sighed. "No, but --"

"No," Severus confirmed. "So then it is clear to you the sheer improbability -- nay, impossibility -- of rescuing even a single soul from those held captive. We shall probably all die simply coming to Lupin's aid, though I suppose it is a worthy risk, and as you term it, only fair after all he has done in return." He pictured Remus' face for a moment, and sighed. "One individual -- one -- might not be missed if we have the luck and grace to escape undetected. With our concentration on just Lupin, we might even be able to fight a way out, if we catch them off guard. We cannot, however, imagine that we would have any sort of chance in attempting to completely overthrow the little prison system the Dark Lord has established. It's madness."

"But we have to," Ginny protested. "I couldn't live with myself, if I --"

Her words were abruptly silenced by Severus, who placed a hand over her mouth. Immediately, Fred began storming towards him, but Severus held up his other hand, calling for silence, and indicated for the others to be still.

Closing her eyes and listening carefully, Ginny could just hear the sound of Lucius' footsteps as he walked sedately over the hill. She opened her eyes in shock. His wand was out, but he held his hand down at his side in a non-threatening way. Despite the lateness of the hour, he looked highly alert as well as casual; he was wearing creased trousers and his chest was bare where the silken robe he wore had fallen open.

"Lucius," Severus spoke cautiously as he stood up, dusting himself off with one hand. He squeezed Ginny's hand tight with the other. His expression and the sudden tension of his body indicated wariness, and he narrowed his eyes in a way that was both challenging and defiant.

"Severus," Lucius answered calmly. He glanced at the wand in Ginny's hand and sighed magnificently. "You've come back," he said, ignoring the others, including Ginny, who edged slightly behind Severus, he own wand out. "You should have been more careful with your casting; I saw the green light through the window. It's rather disappointing, actually. I've always considered you far more intelligent than to be so careless."

Wrinkling his brow, Severus looked unaffected. "That curse you saw came from Potter's wand, not my own."

"Potter?" Lucius blinked, then smiled faintly. "Harry Potter? Here? Within reach of the manor? How exceptionally foolish of him. The Dark Lord will be impressed with the boy's daring."

"Indeed," Severus agreed. "Lucius..."

"Greyback!" Lucius called out, startling everybody. Nearby, a bulky man appeared without warning as if formed from the very shadows. He leered at Ginny and Hermione, grinning savagely. "Dispose of them quickly, before any of the others at the manor wake. We shall have full credit for these kills. Severus -- you come with me." He narrowed his eyes as Severus looked at Ginny. "Bring the Weasley chit, if you must," he added, believing himself to be magnanimous, and sighing in a long-suffering way.

"No!" Hermione screamed as the massive werewolf lunged towards her. Fenrir hit the ground hard enough that she could feel the vibrations of his movement beneath her feet even as she flung herself backwards before turning tail and running. The twins immediately began firing spells at the massive man, who rounded on them, teeth bared, and struck Fred so that he slipped.

Severus snatched Ginny's wand from her hand before she had time to consider using it. He raised it in a deadly arc, already mentally casting the unspoken curse that would end the werewolf's life, but a sudden green jet emerged from the nearby trees. It hit Fenrir directly in the back, and he leapt forward as though stung, except that he did not land on his feet. Fenrir pitched forward, his hooked fingers nearly swiping Hermione across the face in a last hunting gesture. Then he fell hard against the ground, and lay still, his eyes open and glassy.

"Who's there?" Lucius demanded, steely and trying to maintain control. A moment earlier, he had looked nearly tranquil, watching the werewolf chase down the Mudblood girl as though it was fairly amusing sport. Now, he looked worried, even a shade nervous. He paid no attention to Harry and Ron's shouts as they clambered out of the tent, demanding to know what was happening. Instead, he rushed over to the trees, beckoning Severus to join him.

"Something's moving back there --"

"I know," snapped Severus impatiently. He thrust Ginny's wand forward, silently calling forth light from the tip, and shone it around through the leaves. "I see -- a shadow -- there!" he called, ignoring the brambles and scratching branches as he forced himself into the foliage.

Lucius blasted apart the close-centred trees, sending branches and leaves flying, but as soon as the melee settled down, he shone light from his wand over the scene, bewildered. There was nothing there at all.

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End file.
